•p/fg 


By  permission  of  the  Westmoreland  Club. 


EDGAR  ALLAN    POE 


POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

BY 

F.  V.  N.  PAINTER,  A.  M.,  D.  D. 

AUTHOR  OF 

A  History  of  Education,  History  of  English  Literature, 

Introduction  to  American  Literature,  Poets  of 

the  South,  Guide  to  Literary 

Criticism,  etc. 


B.  F.  JOHNSON  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 
ATLANTA  RICHMOND  DALLAS 


Copyright,  1907, 
By  B.  F.  JOHNSON  PUBLISHING  Co. 

All  rights  reserved. 


PREFACE 

The  present  work  is  intended  to  be  a  comprehensive  study  of 
the  poets  of  Virginia.  By  that  phrase  the  author  means  to  desig- 
nate such  writers  as  have  published  one  or  more  volumes  of  verse. 
Only  in  two  or  three  cases — such  as  John  Esten  Cooke  and  John 
R.  Thompson — has  this  rule  been  disregarded.  No  author  of  a 
volume  of  verse  has  been  intentionally  omitted. 

The  facts  here  presented  will  be  a  revelation  to  many  persons, 
even  to  those  who  are  well  informed  in  literary  matters.  There 
are  few  who  knew  or  would  have  supposed  that  more  than  a  hun- 
dred men  and  women  of  the  Old  Dominion  had  published  volumes 
of  poetry.  This  surprise  will  undoubtedly  be  increased,  when  the 
variety  and  excellence  of  much  of  this  poetry  is  understood.  As 
a  whole  it  is  notable  for  its  elevation  of  thought  and  purity  of 
sentiment;  and  from  beginning  to  end  there  is  scarcely  a  line  that 
would  bring  a  blush  to  the  cheek  of  modesty  itself. 

In  his  study  of  the  various  volumes  that  came  under  review, 
the  author  has  had  to  assume  the  r6le  of  critic.  While  trying  to  be 
faithful  to  the  integrity  that  should  characterize  a  literary  his- 
torian, he  has  constantly  sought  out  what  was  best.  His  attitude 
has  been  one  of  friendliness;  and  though  he  has  pointed  out  defects, 
where  such  a  course  seemed  necessary  to  a  fair  estimate  of  a  writer, 
his  severity  has  in  all  cases  been  tempered  by  mercy.  In  more 
than  one  case  he  has  deeply  felt  the  pathos  of  a  real  poetic  talent 
struggling  under  irremediable  limitations. 

There  has  been  one  feature  of  the  author's  work  that  has 
brought  him  peculiar  pleasure.  In  most  of  the  poets  that  have 
come  under  review,  he  has  been  able  to  discover  something  which 
for  felicity  of  thought  or  expression  has  been  worth  reproducing 
and  preserving.  In  a  waste  of  platitude  he  has  sometimes  found  a 
gem.  In  this  way  the  present  volume  has  in  some  sense  assumed 
the  character  of  an  anthology,  which,  it  is  hoped,  will  be  found  full 
of  interest. 

[5] 

257758 


6  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

The  stream  of  poetry,  since  the  days  of  the  redoubtable  Captain 
John  Smith,  has  never  run  entirely  dry  in  Virginia.  The  poetic  im- 
pulse has  steadily  followed  the  development  of  the  State,  and  reflected 
its  physical  features,  its  growing  intelligence,  and  its  political  his- 
tory. This  fact  gives  a  special  importance  to  the  present  volume; 
for  it  is  not  simply  a  record  of  individual  verse-writers,  but,  in  part 
at  least,  a  culture-history  of  the  State. 

In  his  treatment  the  author  has  followed  a  chronological  order, 
which  has  been  fixed  by  the  date  of  publication  of  the  successive 
volumes  of  verse.  Upon  the  whole  this  has  seemed  the  most  satis- 
factory arrangement,  though  in  several  cases  of  posthumous  publica- 
tions it  has  necessitated  the  transfer  of  the  poet  from  his  proper 
place.  The  facts  presented  in  the  introduction  to  each  period  will, 
it  is  hoped,  throw  more  or  less  light  on  the  distinctive  character  of 
its  poetry. 

In  the  appendix  will  be  found  the  full  titles  of  the  various 
works  that  have  formed  the  basis  of  this  study.  The  author  has 
made  a  reasonably  careful  examination  of  each  one.  This  investiga- 
tion, which  has  been  very  pleasant,  has  extended  over  several  years 
as  opportunity  presented.  While  a  majority  of  the  books  listed 
may  be  found  in  the  Library  of  Congress  and  the  State  Library  at 
Richmond,  the  collections  there  are  very  far  from  being  complete. 
A  few  private  collections  have  been  helpful;  and  the  Harris  Col- 
lection of  American  Poetry  at  Brown  University  supplied  several 
volumes  not  elsewhere  to  be  found.  To  all  who  have  generously 
assisted  the  author  in  his  researches,  he  feels  deeply  grateful. 

In  conclusion,  the  author  would  express  the  hope  that  his  work 
will  be  regarded  as  worth  the  doing.  He  offers  it  as  a  contribution 
to  the  literary  history,  not  only  of  Virginia,  but  of  the  United  States. 
It  seems  fitting  that  it  should  appear  at  the  time  when  the  State  and 
the  nation  are  celebrating  the  tercentenary  of  the  settlement  at 
Jamestown. 
Roanolce  College,  Salem,  Va.  F.  V.  N.  PAINTEB. 


CONTENTS 


i 

THE  COLONIAL  PERIOD 
Chapter  Page 

I.  THE  BEGINNINGS   ..........................       9 

II.  EARLY  COLONIAL  DAYS  ......................     18 

III.  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTUEY  BEFORE  THE  REVO- 

LUTION   ...............................     23 

II 
THE  PERIOD  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

IV.  POLITICAL  AND  LITERARY  ACTIVITY  ...........     28 

V.  THE  MUNFORDS  ............................     38 

VI.  VARIOUS  OTHER  AUTHORS  ...................     46 

777 

FIRST  NATIONAL  PERIOD 

VII.  SOCIAL  CONDITIONS  AND  EARLY  WRITERS  ......  63 

VIII.  WRITERS  OF  THE  THIRD  DECADE  ..............  75 

IX.  POETS  FROM  1830  TO  1840  ...................  84 

X.  POETS  FROM  1840  TO  1850  ...........  ........  108 

XL  POETS  FROM  1850  TO  1860  ..................  .  125 

IV 

PERIOD  OF  THE  CIVIL  WAR 
XII.  WAR  POETRY  IN  VIRGINIA  ...................  158 

XIII.  POETS  OF  THE  WAR  PERIOD  .  ,170 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD 

Chapter  Page 

XIY.  POETS  FROM  1870  TO  1880 192 

XV.  POETS  or  1880  AND  1881 207 

XVI.  POETS  FROM  1882  TO  1889 227 

XVII.  POETS  FROM  1890  TO  1895 244 

XVIII.  POETS  FROM  1895  TO  1900 258 

XIX.  POETS  FROM  1900  TO  1906 281 

XX.  POETS  OF  WEST  VIRGINIA 316 

APPENDIX  .  .  329 


POETS    OF    VIRGINIA 

i 

The  Colonial  Period 

CHAPTER  I 

The  Beginnings 

American  literature  had  its  beginning  at  Jamestown.  While 
the  colonists,  amid  toils,  dangers,  and  sufferings,  were  making 
history,  there  were  writers  among  them  to  record  it.  In  many 
cases  the  hand  that  wielded  the  sword  was  equally  skilful  in 
guiding  the  pen.  Caesar  was  not  the  only  man  who  could  at 
the  same  time  make  and  write  history. 

The  explanation  of  this  early  rise  of  literature  is  not  far  to 
seek.  Whatever  may  have  been  the  character  of  some  of  the 
colonists,  the  leading  spirits  among  them  were  animated  with 
great,  uplifting  purposes.  They  breathed  the  spacious  atmos- 
phere belonging  to  the  age  of  Elizabeth,  and  were  in  some 
measure  conscious  of  the  mighty  work  they  were  beginning.  In 
a  spirit  of  loyalty  they  sought  to  add  a  new  realm  to  the  English 
crown;  and  in  a  spirit  of  Christian  zeal  they  desired  to  convert 
the  natives. 

It  will  be  readily  understood  that  the  first  writers,  for  the 
most  part,  did  not  aim  at  artistic  literature.  Their  literary 
aims  were  chiefly  practical.  They  were  less  concerned  about 
the  form  than  about  the  matter  of  their  writing.  They  were 
anxious  to  make  known  their  experiences,  their  discoveries,  and 
their  necessities  to  the  mother  country,  from  which  further 
supplies  of  men  and  money  were  to  come;  at  the  same  time, 

[9] 


10  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

they  no   doubt   found   a  natural   pleasure   in   describing  the 
beauties  and  wonders  of  the  new  world. 

John  Smith. — The  first  writings  of  the  colonists  were  naturally 
in  prose.  In  1608,  the  year  following  the  establishment  of  the 
colony  at  Jamestown,  appeared  Captain  John  Smith's  True 
Relation  of  such  Occurrences  and  Accidents  of  Noate  as  hath 
Happened  in  Virginia  since  the  first  Planting  of  the  Colony. 
It  recounts  with  simple  directness  the  incidents  of  his  capture 
by  the  Indians  as  he  was  exploring  the  Chickahominy.  Of  other 
prose  writers— Percy,  Strachey,  Porey — it  is  not  necessary  to 
epeak. 

It  is  noteworthy  that  these  writers  of  prose  were  not  invin- 
cibly prosaic.  They  felt  the  influence  of  the  splendid  literary 
era  associated  with  the  name  of  Elizabeth — an  era  that  gave 
Spenser,  Shakespeare,  and  Ben  Johnson  to  the  world.  They 
were  not  indifferent  to  the  charms  of  poetic  thought  and  expres- 
sion. As  we  look  over  Smith's  History  of  Virginia,  which 
appeared  in  1626,  it  is  interesting  to  note  how  the  various  writers 
who  contributed  to  that  work,  round  out  their  stories  with  a 
stanza  of  poetry. 

The  brave,  enterprising,  and  practical  Smith  himself  was  not 
without  poetic  impulses  and  poetic  culture.  He  embellishes  his 
narrative  in  the  General  History  with  frequent  snatches  of 
verse.  He  thus  describes,  for  instance,  his  condition  among  the 
Indians  after  his  rescue  by  Pocahontas — a  romantic  incident 
suspiciously  lacking  in  the  True  Relation : — 

"  They  say,  he  bore  a  pleasant  shew; 
But  sure  his  heart  was  sad. 
For  who  can  pleasant  be,  and  rest, 
That  lives  in  fear  and  dread; 
And  having  life  suspected,1  doth 
It  still  suspected  lead?" 

1  Suspected  here  has  the  sense  of  uncertain,  doubtful. 


THE  COLONIAL  PERIOD  11 

Many  of  the  poetic  snatches  used  in  the  General  History  to 
enforce  a  moral  or  adorn  a  truth,  seem  to  be  original,  bursting 
forth  spontaneously  from  the  fertile  brain  of  the  author.  The 
suggestion  of  a  rhyme  appears  to  have  been  a  seductive  allure- 
ment. However  this  may  be,  we  find  in  a  later  work,  Adver- 
tisements for  the  Unexperienced  Planters  of  New  England,  or 
Anywhere,  printed  in  1631,  a  brief  poem  that  is  not  without 
merit.  It  justifies  us  in  claiming  the  wise  and  energetic  leader 
of  the  Virginia  colony  as  a  poet.  The  poem  is  entitled  The  Sea 
MarTCj  and  gives  voice  to  a  vessel  that  has  suffered  wreck  through 
the  carelessness  born  of  over-confidence.  It  consists  of  three 
stanzas  as  follows: — 

"  Aloof,  aloof,  and  come  not  near! 
The  dangers  do  appear 
Which,  if  my  ruin  had  not  been, 
You  had  not  seen: 
I  only  lie  upon  this  shelf 

To  be  a  mark  to  all 

Which  on  the  same  might  fall, 
That  none  may  perish  but  myself. 

"  If  in  or  outward  you  be  bound, 
Do  not  forget  to  sound; 
Neglect  of  that  was  cause  of  this 
To  steer  amiss. 
The  seas  were  calm,  the  wind  was  fair; 

That  made  me  so  secure, 

That  now  I  must  endure 
All  weathers,  be  they  foul  or  fair. 

"  The  winter's  cold,  the  summer's  heat, 
Alternately  beat 

Upon  my  bruised  sides  that  rue, 
Because  too  true, 
That  no  relief  can  ever  come. 

But  why  should  I  despair, 

Being  promised  so  fair 
That  there  shall  be  a  day  of  Doom." 


12  POET8  OF  VIRGINIA 

B.  Rich. — The  first  American  poem  has  a  very  early  date. 
In  1610  K.  Eich,  "a  soldier  blunt  and  plaine,"  published  A  Bal- 
lad of  Virginia*  celebrating  "the  happy  arrivall  of  that  famous 
and  worthy  knight  Sir  Thomas  Gates  and  well  reputed  and 
valiante  Captaine  Newport  into  England."  It  is  prefaced  with 
an  interesting  address  to  the  reader,  in  which  the  author  says 
that  he  was  influenced  by  artistic  rather  than  by  mercenary 
motives.  "Thou  dost  peradventure  imagine/'  he  says,  "that  I 
am  mercenarie  in  this  business  and  write  for  money  (as  your 
moderne  Poets  use)  hired  by  some  of  those  ever  to  be  admired 
adventurers  to  flatter  the  world.  No,  I  disclaime  it." 

The  poem  consists  of  twenty-two  stanzas  of  four  lines  each, 
and  exhibits  considerable  facility  in  versification.  It  is  chiefly 
descriptive ;  and  the  absence  of  high  imagination  and  of  delicate 
sensibility  renders  it  rather  prosaic.  The  author  is  mostly 
concerned  about  the  facts;  and  having  himself  passed  through 
the  scenes  portrayed,  he  is  sometimes  more  definite  than  digni- 
fied in  his  statement  of  incident.  He  belonged  to  the  expedition 
which  sailed  from  England  in  1609  under  the  command  of 
Newport,  and  suffered  shipwreck  in  a  hurricane  on  the 
Bermuda  islands. 

"The  seas  did  rage,  the  windes  did  blow,  distressed  were  they  then; 
Their  ship  did  leake.  her  tacklings  breake,  in  daunger  were  her 

men. 

But  Heaven  was  pylotte  in  this  storm,  and  to  an  iland  nere, 
Bermoothawes  call'd,  conducted  then,  which  did  abate  their  feare. 

"  But  yet  these  worthies  forced  were,  opprest  with  weather  againe, 
To  runne  their  ship  between  two  rockes,  where  she  doth  still 
remaine; 

*But  a  single  copy  of  the  original  is  known  to  exist.  It  has, 
however,  been  several  times  reprinted,  and  may  be  found  In  Sted- 
man's  Library  of  American  Literature,  Vol.  I.,  21. 


THE  COLONIAL  PERIOD  13 

And  then  on  shoare  the  iland  came,  inhabited  by  hogges, 

Some  fowle  and  tortoyses  there  were,  they  only  had  one  dogge, 

"  To  kill  these  swyne,  to  yield  them  foode  that  little  had  to  eate; 
Their  store  was  spent,  and  all  things  scant,  alas!   they  wanted 

meate. 

A  thousand  hogges  that  dogge  did  kill,  their  hunger  to  sustaine, 
And  with  such  foode  did  in  that  ile  two  and  forty  weekes  re- 

maine." 

The  two  vessels  constructed  there  of  "seader-tree"  enabled 
Gates  and  Somers  to  resume  their  journey  to  Jamestown,  where 
they  arrived  at  a  very  critical  time  in  the  history  of  the  colony. 
Disease  and  famine  had  wrought  sad  havoc  among  the  colonists ; 
and  in  their  suffering  and  despair,  they  were  ready  to  abandon 
their  settlement  forever.  The  timely  arrival  of  Lord  Delaware 
with  a  fresh  supply  of  food  and  helpers  brought  new  hope  and 
courage  to  the  fleeing  colonists : — 

"And  in  the  midst  of  discontent  came  noble  Delaware; 
He  heard  the  griefs  on  either  part,  and  set  them  free  from  care. 
He  comforts  them  and  cheeres  their  hearts  that  they  abound 

with  joy; 
He  feedes  them  full  and  feedes  their  soules  with  God's  word  every 

day." 

Lord  Delaware  appointed  a  discreet  council,  and  inspired  the 
entire  colony,  "full  foure  hundred  able  men,"  to  resume  the 
abandoned  work. 

"Where  they  unto  their  labour  fall,  as  men  that  meane  to  thrive; 
Let's  pray  that  Heaven  may  bless  them  all,  and  keep  them  long 

alive. 

Those  men  that  vagrants  lived  with  us,  have  there  deserved  well; 
Their  governour  writes  in  their  praise,  as  divers  letters  tell. 

"And  to  the  adventurers  thus  he  writes:     Be  not  dismayed  at  all, 
For  scandall  cannot  doe  us  wrong.    God  will  not  let  us  fall. 


14  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

Let  England  knowe  our  willingness,  for  that  our  worke  is  goode; 
We  hope  to  plant  a  nation,  where  none  before  hath  stood. 

"  To  glorifie  the  Lord  'tis  done,  and  to  no  other  end; 
He  that  would  cross  so  good  a  worke,  to  God  can  be  no  friend. 
There  is   no  feare  of  hunger  here,  for  corne  much  store  here 

growes, 
Much  fish  the  gallant  rivers  yield,  'tis  truth  without  suppose." 

The  concluding  stanzas  of  this  interesting,  circumstantial 
poem  present  the  Jamestown  colony  in  a  very  attractive  light. 
Apart  from  two  ship  loads  of  needful  commodities — "furres, 
sturgeon,  caviare,  black  walnut-tree  and  some  deale  boards" — 
which  the  forethought  and  generosity  of  "the  noble  Delaware" 
had  provided,  the  poet  explains  the  liberal  terms  of  the  London 
Company,  by  which  each  colonist,  in  addition  to  his  daily  wages, 
was  to  have  "a  house  and  garden  plot"  and  also  "a  share  of  the 
generall  profit."  The  people  of  London  were  not  blind  or 
indifferent  to  these  inducements;  for  the  last  stanza  informs  us 
that— 

"  The  number  of  adventurers,  that  are  for  this  plantation, 
Are  full  eight-hundred  worthy  men,  some  noble,  all  of  fashion. 
Good,  discreete,  their  worke  is  good,  and  as  they  have  begun, 
May  Heaven  assist  them  in  their  worke,  and  thus  our  newes  is 
done." 

George  Sandys. — It  is  a  common  error  to  suppose  that  poetic 
gifts  are  incompatible  with  an  aptitude  for  the  practical  affairs 
of  life.  Though  minor  poets  often  exhibit  unattractive  idiosyn- 
crasies, the  great  masters  of  song  have  generally  shown  an  emi- 
nent sanity,  and  in  not  a  few  cases  distinguished  themselves  as 
men  of  affairs.  Not  long  after  Shakespeare  had  retired  to  Strat- 
ford-on-Avon  on  a  competent  fortune  earned  by  the  successfull 
management  of  London  theaters,  George  Sandys  (1577-1644), 
who  migrated  to  Jamestown  in  1621,  was  making  himself  useful 


THE  COLONIAL  PERIOD  15 

to  the  infant  colony.  While  serving  it  faithfully  as  treasurer, 
he  devised  large  and  admirable  measures  for  its  development  and 
independence.  He  is  said  to  have  introduced  the  first  water- 
mill  in  the  new  world ;  and  the  establishment  of  iron-works  and 
the  beginning  of  shipbuilding  in  Virginia  were  due  to  his 
wisdom  and  energy. 

Before  going  to  America,  Sandys  had  been  a  scholarly  traveler 
in  the  Orient.  In  1615  he  published  an  account  of  his  travels 
in  Turkey,  Palestine,  and  Egypt — a  work  that  was  received  with 
favor  by  the  king  and  the  public.  The  poetic  gifts  of  our  author, 
who  had  begun  a  translation  of  Ovid's  Metamorphoses,  were 
likewise  recognized  before  he  left  England.  In  a  poetic  epistle 
Michael  Drayton,  himself  a  poet  of  no  mean  gifts,  urged  his 
friend  to  woo  the  Muses  in  Virginia  and  complete  the  work  so 
happily  begun :— « 

"  And  worthy  George,  by  industry  and  use, 
Let's  see  what  lines  Virginia  will  produce. 
Go  on  with  Ovid,  as  you  have  begun 
With  the  first  five  books;  let  your  numbers  run 
Glib  as  the  former;  so  shall  it  live  long 
And  do  much  honor  to  the  English  tongue. 
Entice  the  Muses  thither  to  repair; 
Entreat  them  gently;  train  them  to  tihat  air; 
For  they  from  hence  may  thither  hap  to  fly."  * 

Sandys  responded  to  this  generous  encouragement  and  to  the 
unquenchable  literary  impulse  within  his  bosom.  His  prosecu- 
tion of  the  work  of  translation  amidst  the  duties  of  his  office  and 
the  turmoils  and  horrors  connected  with  the  massacre  of  1622, 
was  something  heroic.  In  his  dedicatory  letter  addressed  "To 
the  most  High  and  Mightie  Prince  Charles,  King  of  Great 
Britain,  France,  and  Ireland,"  he  reveals  the  circumstances  of 


1  Anderson's  British  Poets,  Vol.  III.,  542. 


16  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

its  composition.  It  was  "limn'd  by  that  imperfect  light  which 
was  snatched  from  the  bowers  of  night  and  repose.  .  .  It 
needeth  more  than  a  single  denization,  being  a  double  stranger. 
Sprung  from  the  stocke  of  the  ancient  Komanes,  but  bred  in 
the  New  World,  of  the  rudeness  whereof  it  cannot  but  partici- 
pate; especially  having  Warres  and  Tumults  to  bring  it  to  light 
instead  of  the  Muses." 

After  the  dissolution  of  .the  London  Company  in  1624  by  the 
high-handed  measures  of  the  king,  Sandys  returned  to  London 
with  his  manuscript.  It  was  published  in  a  substantial  folio  in 
1626.1  As  will  be  seen  from  the  following  extract,  the  transla- 
tion is  iambic  pentameter  in  rhyming  couplets.  It  adheres 
faithfully  to  the  original;  and  the  vigor  of  the  verse  reflects 
credit  on  the  literary  skill  and  poetic  gifts  of  the  translator. 

"  The  Golden  Age  was  first;  which  uncompeld, 
And  without  rule,  in  Faith  and  Truth  exceld, 
As  then  there  was  nor  punishment  nor  feare; 
Nor  threatning  Laws  in  brass  prescribed  were; 
Nor  suppliant  crouching  pris'ners  shooke  to  see 
Their  angrie  Judge;  but  all  was  safe  and  free. 
To  visit  other  Worlds  no  wounded  Pine 
Did  yet  from  Hills  to  faithless  Seas  decline. 
Then,  unambitious  Mortals  knew  no  more 
But  their  owne  Countrie's  nature-bounded  shore." 

The  translation  received  worthy  recognition,  and  Before  the 
close  of  the  century  reached  its  eighth  edition.  It  was  not 
without  influence  upon  Dryden,  who  pronounced  Sandys  "the 


1  Ovid's  Metamorphoses,  Englished  "by  G.  8.  Imprinted  at  London 
MDCXXVI.  Cum  privilegio.  London.  Printed  by  William  Stansby. 

Copies  of  this  rare  work  may  be  found  at  Harvard,  the  State 
Library  at  Richmond,  and  the  Library  of  Congress.  The  copy  in  the 
Library  of  Congress,  a  well-worn  volume  in  leather,  was  used  in 
the  preparation  of  this  sketch. 


THE  COLONIAL  PERIOD  17 

best  versifier  of  the  former  age ;" J  and  Pope,  who  was  very 
cautious  in  bestowing  praise,  said  that  he  "liked  it  extremely." 

After  his  return  to  England,  Sandys  employed  his  talents  in 
turning  parts  of  the  Scriptures — the  Psalms,  Job,  Ecclesiastes — 
into  verse.  He  also  wrote  a  few  original  poems,  which  old 
Thomas  Fuller  characterized  as  "sprightful,  vigorous,  and 
masculine."  But  as  all  this  work  was  done  in  England,  it  does 
not  call  for  further  notice  here.  Sandys  died  at  a  ripe  and 
honored  old  age,  in  1644. 

1  Later,  when  Dryden  himself  came  to  make  translations  from 
Ovid,  he  spoke  less  favorably  of  Sandys'  version,  from  which  he 
thought  the  poetry  of  the  original,  or  the  greater  part  of  it,  had 
evaporated.  It  is  interesting  to  compare  his  rendering  with  that  of 
Sandys,  and  to  note  the  substitution  of  smoothness  for  rugged 
strength:  — 

"  The  Golden  Age  was  first;  when  man,  yet  new, 
No  rule  but  uncorrupted  reason  knew; 
And  with  a  native  bent,  did  good  pursue. 
Unforc'd  by  punishment,  unaw'd  by  fear, 
His  words  were  simple  and  his  soul  sincere: 
Needless  was  written  law,  where  none  opprest; 
The  law  of  man  was  written  in  his  breast: 
No  suppliant  crowds  before  the  judge  appear'd; 
No  court  erected  yet,  nor  cause  was  heard; 
But  all  was  safe,  for  conscience  was  their  guard. 
The  mountain  trees  in  distant  prospect  please, 
Ere  yet  the  pine  descended  to  the  seas; 
Ere  sails  were  spread,  new  oceans  to  explore; 
And  happy  mortals,  unconcern'd  for  more, 
Confin'd  their  wishes  to  their  native  shore." 


P.  of  Va.— 2 


CHAPTEE  II 
Early  Colonial  Days 

After  this  promising  outburst  at  Jamestown,  poetry  passed 
under  an  almost  total  eclipse  during  the  rest  of  the  seventeenth 
century.  An  adequate  explanation  of  this  sudden  decline,  how- 
ever much  it  is  to  be  regretted,  is  found  in  the  social  conditions 
prevailing  in  Virginia,  Poetry  is  a  delicate  flower;  and  as  a 
rule,  it  requires  a  friendly  soil  and  atmosphere  for  its  develop- 
ment. These  necessary  conditions  for  its  growth  and  perfec- 
tion were  lacking  in  those  early,  strenuous  days. 

The  brilliant  beginning  of  literature  already  noticed  was  due 
to  writers  English  born  and  English  bred.  They  brought  with 
them  to  the  wilderness  of  the  New  World  something  of  the 
taste  and  culture  of  the  great  Elizabethan  era.  Afterwards  Vir- 
ginia was  thrown  more  largely  upon  her  native  talent;  and,  as 
we  shall  see,  neither  opportunity  for  literary  culture  nor  im- 
pulse to  literary  activity  existed  in  any  large  measure  during 
this  early  period. 

For  the  greater  part  of  the  first  century  after  the  planting  of 
the  colony,  the  energies  of  the  people  were  almost  entirely 
absorbed  in  the  difficult  work  of  establishing  for  themselves  a 
permanent  and  prosperous  home.  This  task  included  not  only 
the  building  of  houses  and  the  clearing  of  farms,  but  also  the 
subduing  of  hostile  and  treacherous  tribes  of  Indians.  Grave 
governmental  questions,  involving  the  freedom  and  welfare  of 
the  colony,  and  leading  sometimes  to  serious  outbreaks,  came  up 
for  settlement.  The  colony  shared  more  or  less  in  the  wars 
and  revolutions  of  the  mother  country.  Under  the  stress  of  this 
toilsome  and  dangerous  life,  there  could  be  but  little  leisure  for 
the  cultivation  of  literature  as  an  art. 

[18] 


THE  COLONIAL  PERIOD  .  19 

The  Virginia  colonists,  perpetuating  English  traditions  and 
devoted  to  agriculture,  settled  on  large  plantations.  There 
were  no  towns;  and  even  Jamestown,  the  capital,  had  at  the 
close  of  the  seventeenth  century  only  a  state  house,  one  church, 
and  eighteen  private  dwellings.  There  is  scarcely  any  mention 
of  schools  before  1688 ;  and  learning  fell  into  such  neglect  that 
Governor  Spottswood  in  1715  reproached  the  colonial  assembly 
for  having  furnished  two  of  its  standing  committees  with  chair- 
men who  could  not  "spell  English  or  write  common  sense." 
There  was  no  printing-press  in  Virginia  before  1681;  and  the 
printer  was  then  required  to  give  bond  not  to  print  anything 
"until  his  Majesty's  pleasure  shall  be  known."  For  nearly 
forty  years  of  this  period,  from  1641  to  1677,  Sir  William 
Berkeley  exerted  his  influence  and  power  "in  favor  of  the  fine 
old  conservative  policy  of  keeping  subjects  ignorant  in  order  to 
keep  them  submissive."  Under  these  circumstances  there  was 
surely  but  little  encouragement  to  literature. 

Toward  the  close  of  the  period  before  us,  however,  it  is  to  be 
noted  that  a  growing  interest  in  higher  education  resulted  in 
1692  in  the  founding  of  the  College  of  William  and  Mary,  the 
oldest  institution  of  learning  in  the  South,  and,  after  Harvard, 
the  oldest  in  the  United  States.  It  received  a  cordial  support 
not  only  in  Virginia,  but  also  in  England.  The  lieutenant- 
governor  headed  the  subscription  list  with  a  generous  gift,  and 
his  example  was  followed  by  other  prominent  members  of  the 
colony.  The  king  made  liberal  provisions  for  its  maintenance 
and  endowment.  The  college  was  located  at  Williamsburg ;  and 
during  the  eighteenth  century  it  furnished  an  astonishing  num- 
ber of  judges,  statesmen,  and  authors.  It  became  for  a  long 
time  the  literary  center  of  the  Old  Dominion. 

Of  poetry  in  Virginia  during  the  second  half  of  the  seven- 
teenth century,  it  may  almost  be  said  there  was  none.  The 
"two  copies  of  Latin  verses/'  which  the  charter  of  William  and 


20  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

Mary  College  required  the  authorities  to  present  annually  to 
the  king,  hardly  call  for  attention.  Their  excellence  does  not 
appear  to  have  enriched  literature.  John  Grave,  of  whom 
nothing  further  is  known,  published  a  poem  of  a  dozen  pages 
entitled  A  Song  to  Zion,  the  spirit  and  quality  of  which  may  be 
gathered  from  its  closing  lines: — 

"  Glory  to  God,  whose  goodness  doth  increase, 
Praise  him  ever,  who  gives  to  us  his  peace." 

The  only  poems  worthy  of  particular  note  are  found  in  a 
pamphlet  among  the  Burwell  Papers,  which  were  first  pub- 
lished by  the  Massachusetts  Historical  Society,  in  1814.  The 
pamphlet  in  question  describes  "The  Beginning,  Progress,  and 
Conclusion  of  Bacon's  Rebellion  in  Virginia;"  it  is  friendly  in 
tone  to  the  energetic  and  eloquent  rebel,  and  the  author  judges 
it  advisable  not  to  give  his  name.  An  avowal  of  its  authorship 
would  probably  have  exposed  him  to  the  implacable  vengeance  of 
Governor  Berkeley,  of  whom  Charles  II.  sneeringly  said,  "The 
old  fool  has  taken-  away  more  lives  in  that  naked  country  than 
I  have  taken  for  the  murder  of  my  father." 

The  author  of  the  pamphlet  tells  us  that  there  were  many 
copies  of  verses  made  after  Bacon's  death,  "calculated  to  the 
latitude  of  their  affections  who  composed  them."  The  two 
poems  in  the  pamphlet — the  one  a  eulogy,  the  other  an  execra- 
tion— are  evidently  by  the  same  hand,  and  reveal  an  unexpected 
literary  culture  and  poetic  talent.  Though  there  is  an  effort 
to  obscure  the  fact,  the  author  of  the  pamphlet  is  probably  the 
poet.  The  first  poem  is  entitled  Bacon's  Epitaph,  Made  by  his 
Man : — 


1  Extended  extracts  from  these  papers  will  be  found  in  Stedman's 
Library  of  American  Literature,  including  the  poems  mentioned. 


THE  COLONIAL  PERIOD  21 

1  Death,  why  so  cruel?    What!  no  other  way 
To  manifest  thy  spleen,  but  thus  to  slay 
Our  hopes  of  safety,  liberty,  our  all, 
Which,  through  thy  tyranny,  with  him  must  fall 
To  its  late  chaos?    Had  thy  rigid  force 
Been  dealt  by  retail,  and  not  thus  in  gross, 
Grief  had  been  silent.     Now  we  must  complain, 
Since  thcu,  in  him,  hast  more  than  thousands  slain; 
Whose  lives  and  safeties  did  so  much  depend 
On  him  their  life,  with  him  their  lives  must  end. 

If  't  be  a  sin  to  think  Death  bribed  can  be, 

We  must  be  guilty;  say,  'twas  bribery 

Guided  the  fatal  shaft.    Virginia's  foes, 

To  whom  for  secret  crimes  just  vengeance  owes 

Deserved  plagues,  dreading  their  just  desert, 

Corrupted  Death  by  Paracelsian  art 

Him  to  destroy;  whose  will- tried  courage  such, 

Their  heartless  hearts,  nor  arms,  nor  strength  could  touch. 

Who  now  must  heal  those  wounds,  or  stop  that  blood 

The  heathen  made,  and  drew  into  a  flood? 

Who  is't  must  plead  our  cause?    Nor  trump,  nor  drum, 

Nor  deputations;  these,  alas,  are  dumb. 

And  cannot  speak.    Our  arms — though   ne'er  so   strong — 

V/ill  want  the  aid  of  his  commanding  tongue, 

Which  conquered  more  than  Caesar:  he  o'erthrew 

Only  the  outward  frame;  this  could  subdue 

The  rugged  works  of  nature.     Souls  replete 

With  dull,  chill  cold,  he'd  animate  with  heat 

Drawn  forth  of  reason's  lymbec.     In  a  word, 

Mars  and  Minerva  both  in  him  concurred 

For  arts,  for  arms,  whose  pen  and  sword  alike, 

As  Cato's  did,  may  admiration  strike 
Into  his  foes;  while  they  confess  withal, 
It  was  their  guilt  styled  him  a  criminal. 
Only  this  difference  doth  from  truth  proceed, 
They  in  the  guilt,  he  in  the  name,  must  bleed; 


22  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

While  none  shall  dare  his  obsequies  to  sing 
In  deserved  measures,  until  Time  shall  bring 
Truth  crowned  with  freedom,  and  from  danger  free, 
To  sound  his  praises  to  posterity. 

Here  let  him  rest;  while  we  this  truth  report, 
He's  gone  from  hence  unto  a  higher  court, 
To  plead  his  cause  where  he  by  this  doth  know 
Whether  to  Caesar  he  was  friend  or  foe." 

Of  the  poem  of  denunciation,  which  is  inferior  to  the  preced- 
ing poem  of  laudation,  only  the  concluding  lines  are  here  given : 

"  Nor  Is't  a  single  cause  that's  slipped  away, 
That  made  us  warble  out  a  well-a-day! 
The  brains  to  plot,  the  hands  to  execute 
Projected  ills,  Death  jointly  did  nonsuit 

At  his  black  Bar.     And  what  no  bail  could  save 
He  hath  committed  prisoner  to  the  grave, 
From  whence  there's  no  reprieve.     Death  keez>  him  close; 
We  [have  two  many  Devils  still  go  loose." 


CHAPTER  III 

The  Eighteenth  Century  before  the   Revolution 

Literature  is  an  expression  of  the  life  of  a  people.  The 
thoughts  and  feelings  embodied  in  literature  proceed,  in  large 
measure,  from  the  surroundings  and  interests  of  daily  life. 
During  the  eighteenth  century,  the  literary  development  of 
Virginia,  as  well  as  that  of  the  other  colonies,  was  quite  remark- 
able. Literature  kept  pace  with  the  material  progress  of  the 
country;  but  the  amount  of  poetry  written  in  Virginia  is  phe- 
nomenally meagre. 

This  comparative  absence  of  poetry  in  Virginia  is  a  fact  to  be 
accounted  for.  In  other  parts  of  America  it  was  different.  In 
the  New  England  and  Middle  colonies  verse- writers  during  the 
same  period  may  be  counted  by  the  dozen.  Every  species  of 
poetry  was  represented:  Mather  Byles  (1706-1788),  an  elo- 
quent preacher  of  Boston,  published  a  volume  of  miscellaneous 
verse  in  1736;  William  Livingston  (1723-1790),  for  a  number 
of  years  governor  of  New  Jersey,  wrote  a  long  didactic  poem 
entitled  Philosophic  Solitude;  and  John  Godfrey  (1736-1763), 
of  Philadelphia,  composed  the  first  drama  of  America,  The 
Prince  of  Parthia.  It  was  not  till  near  the  close  of  the  eigh- 
teenth century,  after  the  war  of  the  Revolution  had  been  fought 
and  won,  that  Virginia  made  any  important  contribution  to 
poetry. 

In  some  respects  the  conditions  existing  in  the  colonies  further 
north  were  more  favorable  to  literary,  and  particularly  to  poetic 
productions.  Education  was  more  general  there;  and  Boston, 
New  York,  and  Philadelphia  had,  in  some  degree,  become 
centers  of  culture  and  supplied  a  stimulus  to  literary  achieve- 
ment. Yet  culture  was  by  no  means  lacking  in  Virginia;  and 

[23] 


24  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

while  poetry  was  languishing,  noteworthy  contributions  to  liter- 
ature were  being  made  in  prose.  William  Byrd  (1674-1744),  for 
example,  wrote  his  History  of  the  Dividing  Line  between  Vir- 
ginia and  North  Carolina,  with  its  graphic  descriptions,  sage 
reflections,  and  witty  thrusts.  William  Stith  (1689-1755), 
president  of  William  and  Mary  College,  prepared  a.  History  of 
the  First  Discovery  and  Settlement  of  Virginia,  which  has  since 
been  held  in  just  esteem  for  its  scholarly  accuracy. 

Perhaps  the  chief  explanation  of  the  small  amount  of  poetry 
in  Virginia  during  the  period  under  consideration  is  to  be  found 
in  the  predominance  of  practical  interests.  The  organization 
of  society  was  in  large  measure  aristocratic.  The  wealth  and 
culture  of  the  colony  were  found  chiefly  in  what  is  called  Tide- 
water Virginia.  The  towns  were  comparatively  few  in  number 
and  insignificant  in  population;  and  the  dominant  class  of 
people  lived  on  great  entailed  estates  in  something  of  feudal 
opulence.  These  baronial  homes  were  the  seat  of  boundless 
hospitality  and  courtly  culture.  The  literary  refinement  belong- 
ing to  the  age  of  Pope  and  Addison,  acquired  in  many  cases 
by  education  in  the  mother  country,  was  not  lacking.  But  social 
enjoyments,  the  management  of  large  estates,  and  especially  the 
constant  pressure  of  some  political  question  left  but  little  time 
or  impulse  for  the  cultivation  of  the  art  of  poetic  expression. 

The  tardiness  of  Virginia  in  founding  newspapers  withheld 
the  encouragement  to  poetry  that  existed  north  of  the  Potomac. 
In  1704  the  News-Letter,  the  first  periodical  of  the  New 
World,  was  published  in  Boston;  and  before  the  close  of  the 
French  and  Indian  War  in  1763,  nine  other  papers  had  made 
their  appearance  in  the  Northern  colonies.  Official  censorship 
was  there  early  removed.  It  received  its  death-blow  in  New 
York  in  1734  when  Andrew  Hamilton,  addressing  a  jury  in 
behalf  of  an  imprisoned  printer,  successfully  maintained  "the 
liberty  of  opposing  arbitrary  power  by  speaking  and  writing 
truth." 


THE  COLONIAL  PERIOD  25 

The  first  newspaper  in  the  Old  Dominion  was  The  Virginia 
Gazette,  which  was  established  at  Williamsburg  in  1736.  It 
was  a  sheet  six  by  twelve  inches,  and  cost  fifteen  shillings  a 
year.  As  it  had  the  patronage  of  the  government,  nothing 
hostile  to  England  or  to  England's  representative  was  allowed 
to  appear  in  its  columns.  As  the  revolutionary  era  drew  near, 
it  failed  to  voice  the  sentiments  of  Virginia  patriots  and  to 
stimulate  literary  interest. 

In  1768  the  Gazette  contained  a  pretty  full  account  of  the 
reception  given  to  Lord  Botetourt  on  his  arrival  at  the  capital. 
"The  city  was  illuminated,  and  all  ranks  vied  with  each  other 
in  testifying  their  gratitude  and  joy/'  In  the  following  issue 
appeared  an  ode  of  welcome,  the  opening  lines  of  which  will  be 
read  with  pleasure  for  their  archaic  style  and  sentiment : — 

"  Virginia,  see,  thy  Governor  appears! 
The  peaceful  olive  on  his  brow  he  wears! 
Sound  the  shrill  trumpets,  beat  the  rattling  drums; 
Prom  Great  Britannia's  isle  his  Lordship  comes. 
Bid  echo  from  the  waving  woods  arise, 
And  joyful  acclamations  reach  the  skies; 
Let  the  loud  organs  join  the  tuneful  roar, 
And  bellowing  cannons  rend  the  pebbled  shore; 
Bid  smooth  James  River  catch  the  cheerful  sound, 
And  roll  it  to  Virginia's  utmost  bound; 
While  Rappahannock  and  York's  gliding  stream 
Swift  shall  convey  the  sweetly  pleasing  theme 
To  distant  plains,  where  ponderous  mountains  rise, 
Whose  cloud-capp'd  verges  meet  the  bending  skies. 

The  Lordly  prize  the  Atlantic  waves  resign, 
And  now,  Virginia,  now  the  blessing's  thine: 
His  listening  ears  will  to  your  trust  attend, 
And  be  your  Guardian,  Governor,  and  Friend. 

He  comes;  his  Excellency  comes, 

To  cheer  Virginian  plains! 
Fill  your  brisk  bowls,  ye  loyal  sons, 

And  sing  your  loftiest  strains. 


2G      x  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

Be  this  your  glory,  this  your  boast. 
Lord  Botetourt's  the  favorite  toast; 

Triumphant  wreaths  entwine; 
Fill  full  your  bumpers  swiftly  round, 
And  make  your  spacious  rooms  rebound 

With  music,  joy,  and  wina" 

This  is  perhaps  the  first  poem  in  which  the  landscape  of  Vir- 
ginia finds  celebration.  The  poem  possesses  the  further  inter- 
est of  throwing  light  on  the  convivial  customs  of  the  time,  in 
which  there  is  no  trace  of  a  rigorous  or  forbidding  asceticism. 
The  colonists  of  those  days  may  have  been  a  little  severe  in  re- 
quiring attendance  at  church  and  enforcing  observance  of  the 
Sabbath ;  but  it  is  evident  that  they  retained  a  cavalier  freedom 
in  eating  and  drinking. 

The  eighteenth  century,  prior  to  the  Revolution,  was  an  era 
of  territorial  expansion  and  settlement.  In  1716  Governor 
Spotswood  made  his  famous  expedition  across  the  Blue  Eidge 
into  the  alluring  valley  of  the  Shenandoah.  The  "knights  of  the 
Golden  Horseshoe,"  as  the  convivial  company  of  the  adven- 
turous governor  was  called,  did  not  fail  to  spread  far  and  wide 
an  account  of  the  marvelously  inviting  region  they  had  dis- 
covered. From  Tidewater  Virginia  an  increasing  number  of 
explorers  and  settlers,  following  the  course  of  great  rivers,  moved 
westward  toward  the  mountains,  and  began  to  occupy  the 
splendid  Piedmont  region.  In  1733  Colonel  William  Byrd 
founded  the  city  of  Richmond,  which  was  afterwards  to  become 
the  metropolis  and  literary  center  of  the  State. 

Towards  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century,  a  double 
migratory  movement  rapidly  filled  the  great  Shenandoah  Val- 
ley from  Harper's  Ferry  to  the  river  James.  One  migration 
was  that  of  the  Scotch-Irish  Presbyterians,  who  occupied  chiefly 
the  territory  now  embraced  in  the  counties  of  Augusta  and 
Rockbridge.  In  1737  John  Lewis — a  family  name  distin- 


THE  COLONIAL  PERIOD  27 

gnished  in  the  military  annals  of  the  State — -brought  over  from 
Ireland  and  Scotland  about  one  hundred  families,  from  which 
have  sprung  some  'of  the  most  eminent  men  of  Virginia. 

The  other  migratory  movement  was  that  of  the  German 
Lutherans  and  Dutch  Calvinists.  Landing  in  large  numbers  at 
Philadelphia,  they  first  moved  westward  in  Pennsylvania,  whence 
many  of  them  were  turned  southward  into  the  Shenandoah 
region  by  reports  of  its  surpassing  fertility.  The  center  of  this 
German  migration  was  the  section  now  embraced  in  the  county 
of  Shenandoah.  Many  interesting  details  of  these  early  settle- 
ments have  been  preserved  in  KerchevaTs  chronicles,  known  as 
the  History  of  the  Valley. 

These  migrations  not  only  settled  new  territory  in  Virginia, 
but  they  also  introduced  new  elements  into  the  life  of  the  State. 
The  Scotch-Irish  and  Teutonic  settlers  of  the  Valley  present 
many  contrasts  to  the  English  colonists  of  the  Tidewater  region. 
They  adhered,  not  to  the  Church  of  England,  but  to  other 
forms  of  the  Protestant  faith.  They  substituted  small  farms 
for  the  baronial  possessions  of  eastern  Virginia;  and  if  they 
were  not  indifferent  to  wedding  festivities  and  other  social  en- 
joyments, they  led  a  simpler,  thriftier  life  than  usually  pre- 
vailed east  of  the  Blue  Ridge.  But  by  and  by  the  people  of  the 
different  sections  of  the  State  became  more  homogeneous,  and 
cordially  and  bravely  worked  together  in  achieving  independ- 
ence and  in  building  up  the  material  and  intellectual  greatness 
of  the  Old  Dominion. 


II 

THE  PERIOD  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

(1763-1815) 

CHAPTEE  IV 
Political  and  Literary  Activity 

During  the  period  of  the  Revolution,,  which  is  here  made  to 
embrace  several  decades,  the  intellectual  energies  of  Virginia, 
as  of  the  other  colonies,  were  gathered  about  the  two  great  ques- 
tions of  political  independence  and  the  foundation  of  a  great 
republic.  It  was  the  heroic  period  of  Virginia  history;  and  we 
cannot  peruse  the  determined  and  eloquent  words  of  men  like 
Patrick  Henry,  Thomas  Jefferson,  George  Mason,  and  others, 
without  feeling  the  spirit  of  freedom  kindled  anew  in  our 
bosoms.  No  other  colony  furnished  so  many  distinguished 
leaders  in  achieving  American  independence  and  establishing 
the  federal  government.  With  her  glory  as  the  mother  of  states 
and  statesmen,  it  is  no  great  reproach  that  Virginia  has  missed 
the  laureate  wreath  of  poesy. 

The  grave  earnestness  with  which  Virginians  faced  the  polit- 
ical problems  of  the  revolutionary  era  is  reflected  in  their  writ- 
ings. The  business  in  hand  seemed  to  them  altogether  too  vital 
for  trifling.  James  Madison  assisted  in  writing  the  Federalist; 
John  Marshall  expounded  the  fundamental  principles  of  our 
government ;  George  Washington,  after  starting  the  ship  of  state 
on  its  magnificent  course,  prepared  his  Farewell  Address  as  a 
permanent  chart.  It  was  left  to  other  parts  of  our  country, 
treating  the  issues  in  lighter  vein,  to  sing,  as  did  Francis 
Hopkinson  (1737-1791)  of  Pennsylvania,  the  famous  Battle 

[28] 


THE  PERIOD  OF  THE  REVOLUTION  29 

of  the  Kegs,  or  to  satirize  in  the  strains  of  Butler's  Hudibras, 
as  did  John  Trumbull  (1750-1831)  of  Connecticut  in  his 
McFingal,  the  attitude  and  discomfiture  of  the  Tories. 

With  the  growing  sentiment  of  independence  in  Virginia  the 
need  of  a  new  organ  of  expression  was  felt.  Accordingly,  as 
Jefferson  tells  us,  a  second  newspaper,  also  entitled  The  Virginia 
Gazette,  was  started  at  Williamsburg  in  May  1766.  It  was 
nominally  independent,  "  open  to  all  parties,  but  influenced  by 
none;"  yet  the  circumstances  of  its  establishment  sufficiently 
indicate  on  which  side  its  sympathies  and  influence  were  placed. 
When  the  Declaration  of  Independence  was  proclaimed,  it 
declared — 

"  Now  will  America's  sons  her  fame  increase 
In  arms  and  science,  with  glory,  honor,  and  peace." 

In  this  new  Virginia  Gazette,  shortly  after  its  establishment, 
appeared  a  brief  poem  voicing  the  bolder  spirit  of  independence. 
It  is  entitled  Hearts  of  Oak,  and  like  many  other  ballads  belong- 
ing to  the  revolutionary  era,  is  anonymous.  While  the  colony 
was  presided  over  by  a  royalist  governor,  the  poet  found  it 
prudent,  in  breathing  rebellious  sentiments,  to  conceal  his 
identity.  Otherwise  his  poetic  fervor  was  in  danger  of  being 
cooled  in  a  dungeon.  The  last  two  stanzas  of  this  poem  are 
quoted : — • 

"  On  our  brow  while  we  laurel-crown'd  liberty  wear, 
What  Englishman  ought,  we  Americans  dare; 
Though  tempests  and  terrors  around  us  we  see, 
Bribes  nor  fears  can  prevail  o'er  the  hearts  that  are  free. 
Hearts  of  Oak  are  we  still,  for  we're  sons  of  those  men 
Who  always  are  ready,  steady,  boys,  steady, 
To  fight  for  their  freedom  again  and  again! 

"  With  Loyalty,  Liberty  let  us  entwine, 
Our  blood  shall  for  both  flow  as  free  as  our  wine; 
Let  us  set  an  example  what  all  men  should  be, 
And  a  toast  give  the  world,  'Here's  to  those  dare  be  free,' 


30  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 


Hearts  of  Oak  are  we  still,  for  we're  sons  of  those  men 
Who  always  are  ready,  steady,  boys,  steady, 
To  fight  for  their  freedom  again  and  again!"1 

Colonel  Bland. — The  American  Revolution,  so  far  as  is  known, 
found  echo  in  a  single  contemporary  Virginia  poem.  It  was 
inspired  by  the  battle  of  Lexington  in  1775,  and,  as  Mr.  Charles 
Campbell,  the  editor  of  The  Bland  Papers,  remarks,  it  is  "  rather 
distinguished  for  its  patriotic  than  its  poetic  merit."  Yet 
Colonel  Theodoric  Bland  (1742-1790)  was  not  without  poetic 
gifts  and  aspirations.  When  pursuing  his  studies  abroad,  he 
made  a  versified  translation  of  the  first  Eclogue  of  Virgil,  which, 
as  a  juvenile  performance,  possesses  considerable  merit.  He 
took  his  degree  in  medicine  at  Edinburgh,  as  did  many  other 
Virginia  physicians,  and  after  a  year  or  two  spent  in  travel  on 
the  continent,  he  returned  to  America  about  1765  and  entered 
upon  the  practice  of  his  profession.  He  shared  the  spirit  of 
independence  that  was  sweeping  over  the  colonies;  and  though 
he  "  was  fondly  meditating  a  life  of  peaceful  seclusion  and  sigh- 
ing for  some  sequestered  Abyssinian  happy  valley/'  he  entered 
the  service  of  his  country  first  as  a  soldier  and  afterwards  as  a 
legislator.  He  was  a  member  of  Congress  from  17.79  to  1783. 
He  was  a  man  of  courtly  manner,  sterling  integrity,  and  prac- 
tical wisdom,  well  deserving  that  esteem  and  confidence  of 
Washington  which  he  long  enjoyed. 

His  poem  on  the  battle  of  Lexington  has  not  been  preserved 
in  its  entirety.  The  strange  neglect  of  his  manuscripts,  an 
interesting  account  of  which  is  given  by  Campbell,  resulted  in 
the  mutilation  of  the  poem.  Sixteen  stanzas  have  been  pre- 
served, the  last  and  best  of  which  are  here  given : — 

irThe  entire  poem  may  be  found  in  Duyckinck's  Cyclopedia  of 
American  Literature,  Vol.  I.,  451. 


THE  PERIOD  OF  THE  REVOLUTION  31 

"  Shall  Brunswick's  line,  exalted  high, 

And  freely  placed  on  Britain's  throne, 
See  hapless  freedom  prostrate  lie 

And  trampled  on  by  Brunswick's  son? 

"  Ye  nobles  great,  ye  barons  bold, 

Remember  glorious  Runny mede! 
Your  ancestors,  nor  bought  nor  sold, 

Stood  ready  for  their  rights  to  bleed. 

"  Then  spurn  the  proffered  bribe  with  scorn — 

The  chartered  rights  your  sires  have  won 
Purely  transmit  to  those  unborn — 
Let  not  the  sire  enslave  the  son. 

"  Your  brothers  free  in  distant  climes 

With  noble  ardor  on  you  call, 
Prepared  to  meet  tempestuous  times, 
And  prop  the  fabric  ere  it  fall." 

James  McClurg. — The  student  of  American  literature  has  fre- 
quent occasion  to  notice  that,  poetry  is  often  only  a  side  issue — 
an  avocation  from  the  more  serious  pursuits  of  life.  This  is 
particularly  true  of  Virginia  and  other  parts  of  the  South. 
James  McClurg  (1747-1825),  after  completing  his  studies  at 
William  and  Mary  College,  studied  medicine  in  Edinburgh  and 
Paris.  While  abroad  he  published  an  essay  on  Human  Bile, 
which  was  translated,  it  is  said,  into  all  the  languages  of  Europe. 
On  his  return  to  this  country,  he  opened  an  office  in  Williams- 
burg,  where  his  social  and  professional  talents  gave  him  a  promi- 
nent place  in  the  brilliant  society  of  the  colonial  capital. 

His  poetic  fame  is  due  to  a  single  piece,  which  was  written 
in  1777.  It  is  entitled  The  Belles  of  Williamsburg—z,  bit  of 
vers  de  societe  which  owes  its  prominence,  not  so  much  to  intrin- 
sic excellence  as  to  the  scarcity  of  Virginia  poetry  at  that  time. 
It  has  been  felicitously  introduced  by  John  Esten  Cooke  in  his 
excellent  novel  The  Virginia  Comedians.  A  few  stanzas  (there 


32  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

are  sixteen  in  all)   will  show  the  light,  gallant   spirit  of  the 
poem : — 

"  Wilt  thou,  adventurous  pen,  describe 
The  gay,  delightful,  silken  tribe, 

That  maddens  all  our  city; 
Nor  dread,  lest  while  you  foolish  claim 
A  near  approach  to  beauty's  flame, 
Icarus'  fate  may  hit  ye? 

"With  singed  pinions  trembling  down, 
The  scorn  and  laughter  of  the  town, 

Thou'lt  rue  thy  daring  flight; 
While  every  miss  with  cool  contempt, 
Affronted  by  the  bold  attempt, 

Will,  tittering,  view  thy  plight. 

"  Ye  girls,  to  you  devoted  ever, 
The  object  still  of  our  endeavor 

Is  somehow  to  amuse  you; 
And  if  instead  of  higher  praise 
You  only  laugh  at  these  rude  lays. 

We'll  willingly  excuse  you." 

St.  George  Tucker.— -St.  George  Tucker  (1752-182,7)  was  born 
in  Bermuda,  July  9,  1752.  He  came  to  Virginia  some  twenty 
years  later,  and  after  graduating  at  William  and  Mary  College, 
entered  upon  the  study  and  practice  of  law.  He  became  a  1'eu- 
tenant-colonel  in  the  Eevolutionary  war,  and  at  the  siege  of 
Yorktown  received  a  wound  that  lamed  him  for  life.  By  his 
marriage  to  Mrs.  Randolph  in  1778,  he  became  the  stepfather 
of  the  brilliant  but  erratic  John  Randolph  of  Roanoke. 

In  1789  he  was  made  professor  of  law  in  William  and  Mary 
College,  succeeding  the  eminent  and  scholarly  George  Wythe. 
He  was  for  many  years  a  distinguished  judge  in  the  State  and 
Federal  courts;  and  on  account  of  his  legal  writings,  partic- 
ularly his  How  Far  the  Common  Law  of  England  is  the  Com- 
mon Law  of  the  United  States  (1803),  he  was  called  "the 
American  Blackstone." 


JOHN  REUBEN  THOMPSON 


THE  PERIOD  OF  THE  REVOLUTION  33 

But  from  his  early  manhood  he  showed  a  fondness  and  apti- 
tude for  poetry.  He  added  several  stanzas  to  McClurg's  Belles 
of  Williamsburg.  In  1796  he  published  The  Probationary  Odes 
of  Jonathan  Pindar,  Esq.,1  the  object  of  which  was  to  satirize 
John  Adams  and  other  leading  Federalists  for  their  alleged 
monarchical  tendencies.  The  book  is  divided  into  two  parts. 
The  poems  of  the  first  part,  as  a  preliminary  advertisement 
informs  us,  were  originally  published  in  Freneau's  Gazette  in 
the  summer  of  1793,  the  year  Washington  entered  upon  his 
second  term  of  office  as  president  of  the  United  States.  The 
poems  are  written  with  keen  satirical  wit,  and  Vice-president 
John  Adams,  who  sometimes  appears  in  the  verse  as  "Daddy 
Vice,"  receives  special  attention,  though  Hamilton's  initial  is 
of  frequent  occurrence.  A  few  stanzas  from  Ode  IV.,  "to  a 
would-be  great  man/'  must  suffice  to  illustrate  the  manner  and 
tone  of  the  whole  work.  It  is  easy  to  see  that  Tucker  was  not 
a  stranger  to  the  satirical  measure  of  Burns. 

"  Daddy  Vice,  Daddy  Vice, 

One  may  see  in  a  trice 
The  drift  of  your  fine  publication;  2 

As  sure  as  a  Gun, 

The  thing  was  just  done 
To  secure  you — a  pretty  HIGH  station. 

"  Defences  you  call 

To  knock  down  our  wall, 
And  batter  the  STATES  to  the  ground,  Sir; 


1  The  full  title  of  this  rare  book  is  as  follows:     "  The  Probationary 
Odes  of  Jonathan  Pindar,  Esq.,  a  Cousin  of  Peter's,  and  Candidate 
for  the  Post  of  Poet  Laureat  to  the  C.  U.  S.    In  two  parts.    Phil- 
adelphia, 1796,"  pp.,  103.    The  copy  used  by  the  author  was  kindly 
furnished  by  the  librarian  of  Brown  University. 

2  This  was  Adam's  Defense  of  the  American  Constitution,  first 
published  in  England. 

P.  of  Va.— 3 


34  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

So  thick  were  your  shot, 
And  so  hell-fire  hot, 
They've  scarce  a  whole  bone  to  be  found,  Sir. 

"  When  you  tell  us  of  Kings, 

And  such  pretty  things, 
Good  mercy!   how  brilliant  your  page  is! 

So  bright  is  each  line, 

I  vow  now  you'll  shine 
Like — a  Glow-worm,  to  all  future  ages." 

Not  all  the  poetry  of  St.  George  Tucker  was  satirical;  and 
one  of  his  fugitive  pieces,  written  apparently  in  his  old  age, 
has  been  much  admired.  It  is  entitled  Days  of  My  Youthf 
and  is  worthy  of  transcription  in  full : — 

"  Days  of  my  youth, 

Ye  have  glided  away; 
Hairs  of  my  youth, 

Ye  are  frosted  and  gray; 
Eyes  of  my  youth, 

Your  keen  sight  is  no  more; 
Cheeks  of  my  youth, 

Ye  are  furrowed  all  o'er; 
Strength   of  my   youth, 

All  your  vigor  is  gone; 
Thoughts  of  my  youth, 

Your  gay  visions  are  flown. 

"  Days  of  my  youth, 

I  wish  not  your  recall; 
Hairs  of  my  youth, 

I'm  content  ye  should  fall. 
Eyes  of  my  youth, 

You  much  evil  have  seen; 
Cheeks  of  my  youth, 

Bathed  in  tears  have  you  been; 
Thoughts  of  my  youth, 

You  have  led  me  astray; 
Strength  of  my  youth, 

Why  lament  your  decay. 


THE  PERIOD  OF  THE  REVOLUTION  35 

"  Days  of  my  age, 

Ye  will  shortly  be  past; 
Pains- of  my  age, 

Yet  awhile  ye  can  last; 
Joys  of  my  age, 

In  true  wisdom  delight; 
Eyes  of  my  age, 

Be  religion  your  light; 
Thoughts  of  my  age, 

Dread  ye  not  the  cold  sod; 
Hopes  of  my  age, 

Be  ye  fixed  on  your  God." 

It  is  interesting  to  know  that  John  Adams,  in  spite  of  the 
sharp  satire  of  The  Probationary  Odes,  pronounced  this  poem 
superior  to  any  lyric  of  Milton  or  Shakespeare.  But  however 
creditable  to  the  heart  of  the  old  Federalist,  this  opinion  will 
hardly  command  universal  assent. 

John  Burk. — John  Burk — so  the  name  appears  on  the  title 
page  of  his  dramas — was  a  native  of  Ireland.  While  a  student 
at  Dublin  College,  he  attempted  to  rescue  a  rebel  who  was  being 
led  to  execution.  The  attempt  seems  to  have  been  more  heroic 
than  judicious;  and  sharply  pursued  by  the  authorities,  he  made 
his  escape  in  woman's  apparel,  and  as  many  loyal  Irishmen  have 
since  done,  fled  to  America.  He  conducted  a  newspaper — The 
Polar  Star — in  Boston  and  afterwards  another  publication  in 
New  York.  The  last  number  of  the  Boston  paper  was  dated 
'Feb.  2,  1797;  apparently,  as  Professor  Brander  Matthews  re- 
marks, "  The  Polar  Star  remained  above  the  horizon  barely  six 
months,  and  then  sank  forever  into  the  darkness  of  night." 

After  suffering  arrest  in  New  York  under  the  Alien  and 
Sedition  laws,  Burk  removed  to  Virginia  where  he  found  politi- 
cally a  more  congenial  atmosphere.  He  practiced  law  at  Peters- 
burg; and  on  the  4th  of  March,  1803,  he  delivered  at  the  court- 


36  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

house  there  an  eloquent  oration  to  celebrate  the  election  of 
Jefferson  to  the  presidency  and  the  triumph  of  democracy. 
He  was  killed  in  a  duel  resulting  from  a  political  quarrel,  April 
11,  1808. 

Burk  was  both  a  historian  and  a  dramatist.  His  History 
of  the  Late  War  in  Ireland  (Philadelphia,  1797),  though 
breathing  a  strong  partisan  spirit,  is  eloquently  written.  His 
History  of  Virginia  from  the  First  Settlement  down  to  1804, 
has  been  warmly  commended.  But  our  chief  concern  with  him 
is  as  a  poet  and  dramatist — a  department  of  literature  to  which 
he  was  drawn  at  an  early  period.  His  Prince  of  Susa  was  prob- 
ably written  before  he  left  Ireland. 

His  Female  Patriotism;  or,  the  Death  of  Joan  D'Arc,  a 
drama  in  five  acts,  was  the  first  of  his  plays  to  appear  in 
America.  He  subsequently  wrote  his  Bunker  Hill;  or,  the 
Death  of  Warren,  likewise  a  regular  five-act  tragedy,  which,  as 
the  title  page  informs  us,  was  "  performed  at  the  theatres  in 
America  for  fourteen  nights  with  unbounded  applause." 
This  drama,  first  printed  in  1808,  is  dedicated,  in  a  laudatory 
letter,  to  Aaron  Burr. 

An  incident  which  took  place  at  a  performance  of  this  drama 
in  New  York  shows  that  there  was  at  least  one  dissenting  voice 
in  the  chorus  of  "  unbounded  applause."  President  John  Adams 
had  been  invited  to  witness  the  performance;  and  after  the  play, 
he  was  escorted  to  his  carriage  by  the  leading  actors  with  con- 
siderable pomp.  Mr.  Barrett,  who  had  acted  the  part  of  General 
Warren,  ventured  to  express  the  hope  that  the  President  had 
been  pleased.  "  Sir/'  said  Mr.  Adams,  "  my  friend  General 
Warren  was  a  scholar  and  a  gentleman,  but  your  author  has 
made  him  a  bully  and  blackguard." 

Burk  was  a  dramatic  poet  by  no  means  contemptible.  His 
dramas  are  molded  after  Shakespeare;  and  in  his  Bunker  Hill, 
he  appropriates  thirty  lines  verbatim  from  Henry  VI.,  a  fact 


THE  PERIOD  OF  THE  REVOLUTION  37 

to  which  attention  is  called  in  a  note  at  the  end  of  the  piece. 
It  is  rather  remarkable  that  the  quotation  in  question  is  read 
without  any  conscious  jar  of  transition.  A  few  lines  must  serve 
to  illustrate  our  author's  style : — 

"Curse  on  the  authors  of  all  war  and  strife: 
They  are  who  fill  the  world  with  wretchedness; 
Who  tread  on  honor  and  humanity; 
Who  rend  all  ties  which  knit  the  soul  together; 
E'en  love,  the  solace  of  the  human  race, 
Their  phrenzy  spares  not." 


CHAPTER  V 

The  Munfords 

A  literary  taste  is  often  transmitted  by  heredity  or  developed 
by  environment  and  education.  There  are  families,  like  the 
Dwights  and  Adamses  of  New  England,  in  which  literature  finds 
a  congenial  habitat  and  development.  But  the  poetic  gift  is  less 
frequently  transmitted  than  a  penchant  for  prose;  and  it  is  a 
singular  fact  that  the  greatest  singers  of  the  English  race — 
Chaucer,  Shakespeare,  Milton,  Tennyson,  Browning — left  no 
lineal  descendants  touched  with  Olympian  flame.  At  the  close 
of  the  eighteenth  century  there  were  two  Virginia  writers, 
father  and  son,  who  felt  in  equal  degree  the  poetic  impulse. 
These  were  Colonel  Robert  Munford  and  William  Munford. 

Colonel  Munford. — Concerning  Colonel  Munford  few  bio- 
graphical facts  are  accessible.  He  lived  in  Mecklenburg  County ; 
and  during  the  Revolution,  he  achieved  distinction  as  a  patriot 
and  soldier.  He  was  a  shrewd  observer  of  men  and  events ;  and 
after  the  Revolutionary  war,  he  took  a  keen  interest  in  the 
political  movements  about  him.  What  he  saw  of  human  foible 
and  hypocrisy  he  recorded,  with  a  strong  sense  of  humor,  both 
in  prose  and  poetry. 

His  plays  and  poems,  which  were  given  to  the  world  posthu- 
mously by  his  son,  form  an  entertaining  volume.  They  amply 
justify  the  filial  editor  in  the  conviction  "  that  the  work  is  calcu- 
lated to  afford  considerable  amusement  and  instruction."  But 
there  was  also  a  pious  purpose  in  the  publication.  "  Though  to 
all  they  may  not  appear  in  the  light  which  they  do  to  me,"  says 
the  son  William  Munford,  "  as  precious  memorials  of  that  wit 
and  poetical  genius  which  once  animated  the  breast  of  him  who 

[38] 


THE  PERIOD  OF  THE  REVOLUTION  39 

is  now  forever  laid  in  the  silent  tomb,  and  who  once  was  the 
delight  of  his  friends  and  family;  yet  many,  I  hope,  when  they 
read  this  work,  will  remember  a  departed  friend,  and  mourn 
the  loss  of  the  man  while  they  enjoy  the  humor  of  the  poot." 

The  plays  are  in  prose.  The  first  is  entitled  The  Candidates, 
of  which  the  editor  justly  says :  "  The  piece  is  intended  to 
laugh  to  scorn  the  practice  of  corruption  and  falsehood,  of  which 
too  many  are  guilty  in  electioneering;  to  teach  our  countrymen 
to  despise  the  arts  of  those  who  meanly  attempt  to  influence 
their  votes  by  anything  but  merit."  The  election  scenes  it  por- 
trays, if  they  are  true  to  the  facts  then  existing,  may  well  leave 
us  content  that  "  the  good  old  days  "  are  a  century  behind  us. 
The  play  closes  with  this  wholesome  moral : — 

"  Henceforth,  let  those  who  pray  for  wholesome  laws, 
And  all  well-wishers  to  their  country's  cause, 
Like  us  refuse  a  coxcomb — choose  a  man — 
Then  let  our  senate  blunder  if  it  can." 

The  second  play  is  called  The  Patriots,  and  brings  before  us 
something  of  the  courtly  manner  and  high-flown  forms  of  ad- 
dress common  at  the  close  of  the  eighteenth  century.  In  this 
play  we  meet  with  the  two  inevitable  tendencies  of  conservatism 
and  radicalism,  and  also  with  many  a  touch  of  universal  human 
nature.  The  heroine  Mira  was  neither  the  first  nor  the  last  to 
feel  the  conflict  between  her  ardent  affections  and  her  filial 
obligations.  "  I  wish/'  she  exclaims,  "  love  and  duty  could 
always  go  hand  in  hand;  but  the  little  tyrant  will  be  obeyed, 
even  when  all  the  virtues  oppose  him."  To  adopt  the  words  of 
the  editor,  "  The  play  of  The  Patriots  is  a  picture  of  real  and 
pretended  patriots;  by  which  the  reader  may  perceive  the  dif- 
ference between  them,  may  learn  to  honor  and  reward  the  true, 
and  to  treat  the  false  with  infamy  and  contempt." 

The  latter  part  of  the  volume  under  review  is  taken  up  with 


40  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

poetry.  The  translation  of  the  first  book  of  Ovid's  Metamor- 
phoses does  credit  alike  to  the  author's  classical  scholarship  and 
to  his  poetical  skill.  The  Ram  is  a  comic  poem;  it  claims  to 
be  based  on  an  actual  occurrence,  and  satirizes  the  fashion  of 
very  high  head-dresses,  which  were  then  in  vogue.  Two  fash- 
ionable young  ladies — 

"  The  one  I'll  nickname  Molly, 
And  for  the  rhyme,  the  other  Dolly" — 

found  on  one  occasion  that  they  lacked  materials  to  build  up 
their  coiffures  to  the  requisite  altitude.  In  their  desperation 
they  resolved  to  proceed  to  the  pasture  field  and  there  to  deprive 
a  sheep  of  a  goodly  part  of  its  fleece. 

"  Their  hats  and  mantles  on  they  drew. 
And  instant  to  the  meadow  flew; 
A  vicious  ram  was  there  confined, 
And  kept  apart  from  all  his  kind." 

Ignorance  or  courage  left  the  resourceful  maidens  undismayed. 
They  planned  a  skilful  attack : — 

"  The  ram  majestic  marched  along, 
As  some  proud  puppy  through  a  throng; 
But  soon  the  crafty  foe  he  feels 
Attacking  both  at  head  and  heels: 
One  seized  his  horns,  and  one  his  wool." 

At  length  the  furious  creature  turned  upon  his  assailants. 
It  is  needless  to  pursue  the  harrowing  details — to  describe  the 
havoc  made  of  powder,,  false  curls,  and  fluffy  materials,  which 
the  blinded  sheep,  in  his  effort  to  shake  them  from  his  horns, 
scattered  over  the  field.  All  that  may  be  safely  left  to  the 
imagination.  Finally  the  girls  made  their  escape,  and  returned 
home,  disordered  in  dress  but  enriched  in  experience ;  and  because 


THE  PERIOD  OF  THE  REVOLUTION  41 

they  could  not  appear  at  church  in  the  garb  of  fashion,  they 
resolved  to  remain  away  from  public  worship. 

"Then  sad  they  sit,  and  mope,  and  pine; 
Each  thinks,  what  conquests  had  been  mine 
Of  lovers'  hearts,  at  church  to-day 
Could  I  have  gone  in  fair  array, 
In  fashions'  airy  pride  adorned; 
But  now  by  all  I  shall  be  scorned." 

No  doubt  is  left  as  to  the  "  moral  application  "  of  the  poem : — 

"  Ye  fair  ones,  let  your  heads  be  full 
Of  sense,  but  load  them  not  with  wool. 
Fight  not  with  rams  to  gain  their  fleece; 
Trust  me,  such  aids  can  ne'er  increase 
Your  native  charms:  it  Is  not  art, 
But  nature  which  attracts  the  heart. 
Your  flowing  locks  which  nature  gave 
O'er  ivory  necks  in  beauty  wave; 
These  nets  of  love  our  souls  ensnare. 
All  unadorned  with  art  or  care; 
While  pride,  and  pomp's  fastidious  train 
Are  parents  of  disgust  and  pain." 

William  T»lunford. — William  Munford  (1775-1825)  was  edu- 
cated at  William  and  Mary  College,  where  his  taste  for  classical 
study  was  developed  under  the  eminent  George  Wythe,  after- 
wards his  instructor  in  law.  After  finishing  his  legal  course  of 
study,  he  entered  upon  an  engrossing  political  career.  In  1811 
he  was  appointed  clerk  of  the  House  of  Delegates — a  position 
which  he  faithfully  filled  till  his  death  in  1825.  For  a  number 
of  years  he  reported  the  decisions  of  the  Supreme  Court,  ten 
volumes  of  which,  from  1806  to  1820,  were  prepared  by  his 
hand.  But  throughout  his  busy  and  honorable  political  career, 
he  never  lost  his  literary  tastes  nor  entirely  ceased  his  literary 
activities. 


42  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 


In  1798  appeared  his  Poems  and  Compositions  in  Prose  on 
Several  Occasions — upon  the  whole  a  somewhat  youthful  per- 
formance. In  his  general  preface  the  author  naively  says: 
"  The  following  poems  are  submitted  to  the  public  eye  for  several 
reasons.  The  first  is  that  the  author  hopes  they  may  afford  some 
entertainment  and  perhaps  some  improvement  to  those  who 
choose  to  read  them;  the  second  that  they  may  procure  to  the 
author  some  small  reputation;  and  the  third  that  his  not  over- 
burdened purse  may  receive  a  very  agreeable  supply."  Tho 
fallacious  idea  seems  to  have  had  some  currency  in  those  days 
that  writing  poetry  is  financially  remunerative. 

He  makes  a  plea,  not  unusual  in  the  earlier  literary  produc- 
tions of  Virginia,  for  mercy  at  the  hands  of  his  critics.  "  If 
many  defects  be  discovered  herein,"  he  says,  "  and  many  defects 
there  are  I  doubt  not,  I  hope  that  the  world  will  consider  the 
youth  of  the  author,  and  pardon  many  imperfections  for  that 
single  plea.  The  least  symptoms  of  future  merit  should  for  the 
advantage  of  mankind  be  carefully  encouraged,  for  the  beautiful 
flowers  of  genius  are  not  so  common  that  we  may  wantonly 
destroy  any  of  them  in  the  bud  without  a  sensible  loss.  The 
good  critic  will  therefore  overlook  a  number  of  faults  in  the 
productions  of  youth,  and  will  nourish  with  a  fostering  hand 
whatever  seeds  of  heaven-bestowed  spirit  he  may  find  in  hia 
mind." 

The  first  poem,  some  ten  pages  in  length,  is  an  Qlegy  on  the 
defeat  of  Gen.  St.  Glair,  Nov.  4,  1791.  It  begins,— 

"Americans,  attend  my  song; 

A  tale  of  grief  I  tell, 
How  twice  five  hundred  warriors  strong 
Far  'midst  the  forest  fell." 

The  volume  contains,  besides  translations  from  Horace  and 
metrical  versions  of  Ossian,  a  five-act  tragedy  styled  Almoran 


THE  PERIOD  OF  THE  REVOLUTION  43 

and  Hamet.  It  is  founded  on  an  Eastern  tale,  and  is  sufficiently 
grandiloquent  in  its  diction.  The  moral  of  the  drama  is  found 
in  the  closing  speech  of  Hamet : — 

"  Just  God,  may  all  my  actions  give  thee  thanks! 
Henceforth   let  mortals  learn  that  happiness 
Is  not  to  have  each  wild  desire  fulfilled, 
But  to  rely  on  God  alone,  contented 
With  what   He  shall  ordain,  to  regulate 
Our  minds  by  reason  and  the  laws  of  virtue. 

Our  author's  chief  claim  to  consideration  is  due  to  his  transla- 
tion of  Homer's  Iliad.  This  is  really  a  monumental  achieve- 
ment, unequaled,  except  perhaps  by  Sandy's  Ovid,  in  the  annals 
of  classical  scholarship  in  Virginia.  The  translation  engaged 
his  attention  at  an  early  period ;  and  between  the  duties  of  his 
varied  public  stations,  he  continued,  with  increasing  ardor,  to 
devote  intervals  of  leisure  to  its  completion.  The  work  was 
finally  completed  in  1825,  a  short  time  before  his  death. 

He  was  led  to  the  great  undertaking,  as  he  tells  us,  "  by  fond 
admiration  of  the  almost  unparalleled  sublimity  and  beauty  oi? 
the  original."  He  failed  to  find  these  elements  of  Homer  ad- 
equately rendered  either  in  Pope  or  Cowper.  "  Pope  has 
•equipped  him  in  the  fashionable  style  of  a  modern  fine  gentle- 
man; Cowper  displays  him,  like  his  own  Ulysses,  in  rags  un- 
seemly, or  in  the  uncouth  garb  of  a  savage.  Surely  then/'  he 
continues,  "  there  is  room  for  an  effort  to  introduce  him  to  the 
acquaintance  of  my  countrymen  in  the  simple  yet  graceful  and 
venerable  costume  of  his  own  heroic  times." 

The  sound  principles  by  which  he  was  guided,  he  has  presented 
in  his  preface.  "  In  rendering  into  English  a  poem  so  remark- 
able for  elegance  and  perspicuity,  I  have  endeavored  through- 
out to  avoid  harshness  and  affectation ;  to  shun  the  use  of  obscure 
and  obsolete,  as  well  as  of  new-fangled  phrases ;  and  particularly 


44  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 


to  resort  as  seldom  as  possible  to  combinations  or  arrangements 
of  words,  corresponding  rather  with  the  Greek  and  Latin  than 
the  English  idiom.  When  Homer  soars  aloft  like  an  eagle, 
I  have  endeavored  to  follow  his  daring  flight,  without  swelling 
into  bombast,,  which  he  never  does ;  when  he  gracefully  descends 
and  alights  on  the  top  of  some  lofty  mountain,  I  have  struggled 
not  to  fall  below,  but  to  keep  with  him." 

The  following  extract  will  serve  to  show  how  far  he  was 
successful  in  reproducing  the  clearness,  beauty,  and  force  of  the 
original.  It  is  a  part  of  the  final  interview  between  Hector  and 
Andromache  as  described  in  the  sixth  book  of  the  Iliad : — 


"  This  said,  illustrious  Hector  stretch'd  his  arms 
To  take  his  child;  but  to  the  nurse's  breast 
The  babe  clung,  crying,  hiding  in  her  robe 
His  little  face,  affrighted  to  behold 
His  father's  awful  aspect,  fearing  too 
The  brazen  helm,  and  crest  w-ith  horse-hair  crown'd, 
Which  nodding  dreadful  from  its  lofty  cone, 
Alarm'd  him!     Sweetly  then  the  father  smil'd, 
And  sweetly  smil'd  the  mother!     Soon  the  chief 
Remov'd  the  threatening  helmet  from  his  head, 
And  plac'd  it  on  the  ground  all  beaming  bright. 
Then  having  fondly  kiss'd  his  son  belov'd, 
And  toss'd  him  playfully,  he  thus  to  Jove 
And  all  the  immortals  pray'd:     O  grant  me,  Jove, 
And  other  powers  divine,  that  this  my  son 
May  be,  as  I  am,  of  the  Trojan  race 
In-  glory  chief!     So  let  him  be  renown'd 
For  warlike  prowess  and  commanding  sway, 
With  power  and  wisdom  join'd  of  Ilion  king! 
And  may  his  people  say,  This  chief  excels 
His  father  much;  when  from  his  fields  of  fame 
Triumphant  he  returns,  bearing  aloft 
The  bloody  spoils,  some  hostile  hero  slain, 
And  his  fond  mother's  heart  expands  with  joy! 
He  said;  and  plac'd  his  child  within  the  arms 


THE  PERIOD  OF  THE  REVOLUTION  45 

Of  his  beloved  spouse:  she  him  received, 
And  softly  on  her  fragrant  bosom  laid, 
Smiling  with  tearful  eyes.    To  pity  mov'd, 
Her  husband  saw;  with  kind  consoling  hand 
He  wip'd  the  tears  away,  and  thus  he  spake: 
My  dearest  love!  grieve  not  thy  mind  for  me 
Excessively!     No  man  can  send  me  hence, 
To  Pluto's  hall,  before  the  appointed  time; 
And  surely  none  of  all  the  human  race, 
Base  or  e'en  brave,  has  ever  shunn'd  his  fate; 
His  fate  foredoom'd  when  first  he  saw  the  light. 
But  now,  returning  home,  thy  works  attend, 
The  loom  and  distaff,  and  direct  thy  maids 
In  household  duties,  while  the  war  shall  be 
Of  men  the  care;  of  all  indeed,  but  most 
The  care  of  me,  of  all  in  Ilion  born." 

The  translation  was  not  printed  till  1846.  It  was  elaborately 
reviewed *  by  Professor  C.  C.  Felton,  the  eminent  Greek  scholar 
of  Harvard,  who  thought  that  "  a  translation  of  the  Iliad  coming 
from  Virginia  does  more  honor  to  that  ancient  .Commonwealth 
than  her  political  dissertations,  endless  as  they  are/'  Speaking 
of  the  translation's  poetic  style,  this  critic  continues :  "  It  is 
rich  and  rhythmical,  stately,  and  often  remarkably  expressive. 
Sometimes  it  reminds  us  of  the  noble  march  of  Milton's  verse; 
and  we  have  no  doubt  the  Paradise  Lost  was  one  of  the  favorite 
companions  of  Mr.  Munford's  literary  hours.  In  the  selection 
of  single  words,  Mr.  Munford  is  for  the  most  part  very  happy; 
long  passages  might  be  pointed  out,  wherein  no  completing  touch 
of  the  master's  hand  is  wanting;  the  magnificent  conceptions  of 
the  great  original  are  so  thoroughly  rendered,  with  every  height- 
ening felicity  of  epithet,  rhythm,  and  sound  that  echoes  the 


1  North  American  Review,  July,  1846. 


CHAPTEK  VI 
Various  Other  Authors 

It  is  to  be  feared  that  this  commercial  age  is  not  very  friendly 
to  the  poetic  character.  Our  cities  might  contend  for  the  honor 
of  being  the  birthplace  of  Croesus,  but  hardly  of  Homer.  There 
seems  to  be  a  distrust,  shared  by  us  all,  of  the  poetic  tempera- 
ment— an  involuntary  impression  that  the  poet  is  necessarily  an 
unpractical  and  eccentric  person.  The  merciless  pen  of  satire 
has  sometimes  mocked  at  the  shiftlessness  of  the  poet  by  portray- 
ing him  in  shabby  dress,  unshorn  locks,  and  distracted  mien. 
An  old  French  writer,  evidently  painting  from  life,  says  of  such 
a  character, — 

"  Without  asking  his  name  we  easily  know 
He's  either  a  poet  or  wants  to  be  so." 

But  these  unfriendly  judgments  arise  from  a  sad  lack  of 
sympathy  with  the  spirit  of  poetry  or  from  a  total  misappre- 
hension of  its  nature  and  office.  It  is  true,  as  we  shall  presently 
have  occasion  to  note,  that  poets  are  sometimes  unpractical  and 
eccentric.  But  these  characteristics  are  not  a  necessary  result 
of  poetic  gifts.  Poets  have  no  monopoly  of  eccentricity  and 
visionariness ;  for  eccentric  and  visionary  men  are  sometimes 
found  among  writers  of  prose,  and  indeed  in  every  vocation  of 
life.  And  many  of  the  most  honored  names  in  the  history  of 
England  and  America,  as  of  ancient  Greece  and  Rome,  are 
poets — men  as  distinguished  for  sane  and  upright  character  as 
preeminent  intellectual  gifts. 

Giles  Julap. — This  train  of  reflections  has  been  suggested  by 
The  Glosser,  which  the  title  page,  dated  1802,  informs  us  is  "  a 

[46] 


THE  PERIOD  OF  THE  REVOLUTION  47 

poem  in  two  books  by  Giles  Julap."  The  author  cannot  be  put 
in  a  class  with  Homer  and  Shakespeare.  In  a  postscript  to  his 
preface,  he  triumphantly  announces  that  "the  tax  on  whiskey 
is  put  down.  Huzza  for  the  Ancient  Dominion — vvve  old  liberty 
pole ! "  From  this  it  might  fairly  be  inferred  that  Mr.  Julap 
was  a  gentleman  of  more  than  ordinary  convivial  habits;  and 
from  the  incoherency  of  The  Glosser  it  is  to  be  feared  that  'the 
author  while  writing  it  drank  not  at  the  fount  of  the  Muses. 

The  author  dedicates  his  poem  to  "  Mrs.  Minte  G.  Sling/7 
who  he  intimates  is  not  "too  great  to  be  grateful."  He  had 
previously  tried  the  patronage  of  "  the  greatest  of  all  great  men 
then  living/*  but  got  nothing  substantial  in  return.  "  True  it 
is,"  he  says,  "  he  thanked  me  handsomely  enough  for  the  notice 
I  took  of  him,,  and  said  many  flattering  things,  and  made  me 
many  kind  wishes;  among  other  things  he  wished  me  success 
with  nine  ladies.  What !  did  he  take  me  for  a  constellation  of 
tailors, — 

Who  having  nine  lives 

Must  needs  have  nine  wives? 

However,  as  I  have  already  addressed  with  success  one  lady, 
whose  goodness  deserves  more  ample  retribution  than  my  scanty 
circumstances  admit  of  my  making,  I  am  illy  disposed  to  ad- 
dress nine  others." 

As  a  sample  of  this  poem,  here  are  a  few  consecutive  lines, 
discovered  after  much  reading  and  search,  that  express,  in  toler- 
able English,  a  coherent  idea:-— 

"  Man  is  made  up  of  imitation, 
And  will  at  once  or  by  gradation, 
Adopt  the  manners  most  before  him; 
Ergo — 'tis  prudent  to  secure  him, 
As  far  as  may  be,  from  examples 
Immoral,  and  obnoxious  samples." 


48  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

Parson  Weems. — Mason  L.  Weems  was  a  writer  of  both  prose 
and  verse,  which  he  sometimes  mingled  in  the  same  volume.  He 
wrote  the  life  of  Washington,  of  Franklin,  and  of  Marion;  and 
few  American  biographers  have  ever  been  more  popular.  He 
enriched  his  biographical  studies  with  a  store  of  anecdote,  of 
which  the.  interest  often  exceeds  the  authenticity.  To  him  is 
due,  for  example,  the  famous  story  of  the  youthful  Washington 
and  the  destructive  hatchet.  He  was  an  Episcopal  clergyman; 
and  in  all  his  writings  he  remained  a  preacher,  enforcing  with 
great  originality  and  power  the  need  of  righteousness. 

Weems  was  a  native  of  Prince  William  county.  For  a  time 
he  was  rector  of  the  Mount  Vernon  parish,  and  counted  Wash- 
ington among  the  attendants  upon  his  church.  But  a  growing 
family,  it  seems,  made  it  necessary  for  him  to  seek  a  livelihood 
in  a  more  remunerative  vocation;  and  accordingly  we  find  him 
as  a  book  agent  traveling  over  Virginia  and  other  parts  of  the 
South.  His  own  works,  which  met  with  a  ready  sale,  were  no 
small  part  of  his  stock  in  trade.  His  genial  face,  his  well 
tuned  violin,  his  store  of  anecdote,  and  his  earnest  preaching 
made  him  a  traveler  whose  presence  everywhere  brought  kindness 
and  good  cheer.  He  died  in  1825;  and  unfortunately  no  biog- 
rapher has  left  us  a  record  of  what  must  have  been  an  emi- 
nently interesting  and  useful  life. 

Of  his  numerous  works  we  are  concerned  only  with  Hymen's 
Recruiting  Sergeant;  or,  the  New  Matrimonial  Tattoo  for  the 
Old  Bachelors.  This  respectable  pamphlet  of  forty  pages,  first 
published  in  1805,  is  really  a  sermon,  interspersed  with  original 
songs,  on  the  text,  "And  the  Lord  said,  it  is  not  good  for  man 
to  be  alone."  To  this  statement  of  Scripture  the  good  parson 
adds,  "  No,  verily,  nor  for  the  woman  either." 

As  in  the  author's  other  works,  there  is  a  patriotic  devotion 
to  his  country.  He  is  proud  of  her  people,  and  prays  for  her 
welfare.  On  the  title  page  we  read: — 


THE  PERIOD  OF  THE  REVOLUTION  49 

"  God  prosper  long  Columbia  dear, 

In  plenty,  love,  and  peace; 
And  grant  henceforth  that  bachelors  old 
'Mongst  pretty  maids  may  cease." 

The  dedication  sets  forth  the  profoundly  patriotic  purpose 
of  this  appeal  of  mingled  prose  and  verse.  "  I  am  very  clear," 
says  the  prose-poet,  "that  our  buckskin  heroes  are  made  of  at 
least  as  good  stuff  as  any  of  the  best  of  the  beef  or  frog-eating 
gentry  on  t'other  side  the  water.  But  neither  this,  nor  all  our 
fine  speeches  to  our  president,  nor  all  his  fine  speeches  to  us 
again,  will  ever  save  us  from  the  British  gripe,  or  Carmagnole 
hug,  while  they  can  out-number  us  ten  to  one.  No,  my  friends, 
'tis  population,  'tis  population  alone,  that  can  save  our  bacon/' 

"List,  then,  ye  bachelors,  and  maidens  fair, 

If  truly  you  do  love  your  country  dear; 

O  list  with  rapture  to  the  great  decree, 

Which  thus  in  Genesis  you  all  may  see: 
'Marry  and  raise  up  soldiers  might  and  main/ 

Then  laugh  you  may  at  England,  France,  and  Spain." 

This  plea  for  greater  connubiality  is  divided  into  three  parts, 
which  are  stated  in  the  author's  usual  striking  way  with  all 
the  emphasis  of  abounding  italics : — 

"  1.  If  you  are  for  pleasure — Marry  I 

"  2.  If  you  prize  rosy  health — Marry ! 

"  3.  And  even  if  money  be  your  object — Marry !" 

In  support  of  the  first  proposition  several  songs  are  intro- 
duced in  which  the  poet  is  more  concerned  about  the  truth  he 
is  urging  than  about  the  artistic  form  of  his  verse.  The  first 
song  is  here  given  in  full. 

"  In  the  world's  crooked  path  where  I've  been, 

There  to  share  in  life's  gloom  my  poor  part, 
The  sunshine  that  softened  the  scene 

Was — a  smile  from  the  ivife  of  my  heart. 
P.  of  Va.— 4 


50  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

"  Not  a  swain  when  the  lark  quits  her  nest, 

But  to  labor,  with  glee,  will  depart, 
If,  at  eve,  he  expects  to  be  blest 

With—a  smile  from  the  wife  cf  his  heart. 

"  Come,  then,  crosses  and  cares  as  they  may, 
Let  my  mind  still  this  maxim  impart, 
That  the  comfort  of  man's  fleeting  day 
Is — a  smile  from  the  wife  of  his  heart" 

"  Compared  with  a  life  like  this/'  the  author  argues  in  prose, 
"merciful  God!  how  disconsolate  is  the  condition  of  the  old 
bachelor !  how  barren  of  all  joy !  Solitary  and  comfortless  at 
home  he  strolls  abroad  into  company.  Meeting  with  no  tender- 
ness nor  affection,  to  sweeten  company,  he  soon  tires,  and  with 
a  sigh  gets  up  to  go  home  again.  Poor  man !  his  eyes  are  upon 
the  ground,  and  his  steps  are  slow;  for  alas!  home  has  no 
attractions.  He  sees  nothing  there  but  gloomy  walls  and  lone- 
some chambers.  Alone  he  swallows  his  silent  supper — he  crawls 
to  bed,  and  trembling  coils  himself  up  in  cold  sheets,  sadly 
remembering  that  with  to-morrow's  joyless  sun,  the  same  dull 
round  begins  again ! !  " 

Mrs.  Eitson. — Mrs.  Ritson  was  an  English  lady  who,  at  the 
beginning  of  the  last  century,  spent  some  eight  years  in  Alex- 
andria and  Norfolk.  Like  many  another  foreign  visitor  since 
her  day,  she  gave  her  impressions  of  America  in  a  book,  which 
she  calls  A  Poetical  Picture.  It  is  a  sort  of  metrical  diary, 
in  which  a  clever  woman  gives  a  graphic  portrayal  of  social 
conditions  as  they  existed  a  hundred  years  ago — conditions  of 
which  faint  traces  may  possibly  be  discovered  to-day.  It  was 
published  in  London  in  1809. 

Mrs.  Ritson  was  moved  to  undertake  the  Poetical  Picture, 
not  merely  through  a  love  of  literary  fame,  but  also  through  the 
laudable  desire  to  benefit  her  fellow-countrymen.  "The  recital 


THE  PERIOD  OF  THE  REVOLUTION  51 

in  the  following  pages,"  she  says  in  her  preface,  "contains  a 
narrative  of  domestic  occurrences,  and  may  be  useful  to  those 
who  have  occasion  to  cross  the  Atlantic;  it  may  serve  also  as  a 
check  to  many  who,  dissatisfied  with  their  lot  here,  imagine  that 
,  change  of  place  will  insure  happiness  and  procure  wealth: 
experience  teaches  wisdom;  and  many  a  discontented  wanderer 
finds,  too  late,  that  he  has  sacrificed  real  liberty  to  an  imaginary 
idol;  and  that  labor  is  everywhere  necessary  to  obtain  subsis- 
tence.^ She  anticipates  the  criticism  that  her  narrative  is 
not  very  flattering  to  the  American  people.  "  But  Virginians/' 
she  says,  "must  acknowledge  the  truth  of  every  assertion.  I 
relate  only  what  I  saw;  and  have  confined  my  descriptions  to 
the  places  where  I  long  resided." 

In  Alexandria,  where  our  author  first  resided,  she  was  not 
favorably  impressed  by  the  atmosphere  of  elegant  and  abounding 
leisure.  Virginia  had  not  yet  assumed  the  energy  of  strenuous 
life.  In  Alexandria  our  critic  found — 

"  That  all  was  quiet,  all  serene, 
Nothing  like  traffic  to  be  seen; 
Loitering  the  men  were  always  found, 
And  any  idle  tale  went  round, 
That  gave  a  change  to  the  dull  face 
Of  every  mortal  in  the  place." 

But  she  does  ample  justice  to  their  hospitality  and  love  of 
good  cheer,  particularly  in  the  early  part  of  winter, — 

"  When  all  the  folks  who  love  good  eating, 
And  think  of  little  else  but  treating, 
With  pleasure  oft  their  lips  will  smack, 
When  speaking  of  a  canvas  back." 

The  Virginian's  love  of  fine  horses  and  of  the  excitements  of 
the  race-track,  as  it  existed  in  that  older  day,  did  not  escape 


52  POETS  OF  VfRGINIA 

our  censor's  keen  observation.     Speaking  of  the  race-track  near 
Norfolk,  she  says : — 

"  A  race  is  a  Virginian's  pleasure, 
For  which  they  always  can  find  leisure; 
For  that  they  leave  their  farm  and  home, 
From  every  quarter  they  can  come; 
With  gentle,  simple,  rich,  and  poor, 
The  race-ground  soon  is  covered  o'er; 
Negroes  the  gaming  spirit  take, 
And  bet  and  wager  every  stake. 
Males,  females,  all,  both  black  and  white, 
Together  at  this  sport  unite." 

She  notes  the  gay,  social  nature  of  the  people,  who  delight  in 
dancing  and  would  "jig  with  pleasure  every  night."  She 
recognizes  Virginia  cleverness,  yet  observes  that  many  who 
engage  in  these  festive  gayeties  are  neither  brilliant  nor  schol- 
arly. In  fact,  it  seems  to  her  that  wisdom  and  culture  are  by 
no  means  necessary  for  social  recognition  and  success : — 

"  But  wit  and  sense,  and  such  wise  things, 

Need  not  attend  on  fiddle-strings; 

For  if  the  lad  can  foot  it  well, 

And  flatteringly  some  nonsense  tell, 

Has  a  few  negroes  and  plantation, 

He's  wise  as  many  in  the  nation; 

Among  the  fair  may  pick  and  choose, 
,  As  few  a  husband  will  refuse." 

Paul  Henkel. — With  Paul  Henkel  the  poetic  muse  first  appears 
west  of  the  Blue  Ridge.  In  him  the  sturdy  German  element 
of  the  population  of  Virginia  found  its  earliest  metrical  utter- 
ance. He  was  a  worthy  representative  of  a  strong  race — stal- 
wart in  body  as  in  soul.  He  was  born  December  15,  1754,  in 
Eowan  County,  N.  C.,  but  after  preparing  himself  for  the 
ministry  of  the  Lutheran  Church,  he  located  at  New  Market, 


THE  PERIOD  OF  THE  REVOLUTION  53 

Va.,  and  became  a  devoted  missionary  throughout  the  Shenan- 
doah  Valley  and  in  Southwestern  Virginia.  He  visited  the 
scattered  communities  of  German  Lutherans  throughout  this 
region,  catechised  the  young,  administered  the  sacraments,  and 
wherever  possible,  organized  congregations.  In  all  this  work, 
his  ability  and  zeal  made  him  eminently  successful. 

In  the  course  of  time  he  became  identified  with  the  larger 
interests  of  the  Lutheran  Church.  In  1803  he  was  active  in 
organizing  the  North  Carolina  Synod;  in  1818  he  took  part 
in  the  organization  of  the  Ohio  Synod;  and  in  1820  he  was  a 
leader  in  the  organization  of  the  Tennessee  Synod.  From 
New  Market  as  a  starting-point,  he  made  missionary  tours, 
not  only  through  the  parts  of  Virginia  already  mentioned, 
but  also  through  Tennessee,  Kentucky,  Ohio,  and  Indiana. 
These  long  journeys  were  usually  made  on  horseback,  and  were 
attended  with  great  discomfort  and  danger.  But  with  a  truly 
Pauline  spirit,  he  toiled  on  with  indomitable  energy. 

At  the  same  time  he  was  abundant  in  literary  labors,  which 
aimed  at  the  edification  of  the  church.  He  made  use  both  cf 
the  German  and  the  English  language.  He  was  a  strict 
adherent  to  the  faith  of  the  Augsburg  Confession,  and  in  1809 
published  a  work  on  Baptism  and  the  Lord's  Supper.  The 
following  year  he  prepared  a  German  hymn-book,  and  several 
years  later,  an  English  hymn-book.  In  1814  he  published  a 
German  catechism,  which  was  soon  after  put  into  English. 
From  all  this  it  is  apparent  that  he  was  a  great  indefatigable 
worker. 

But  our  principal  concern  with  this  author  relates  to  a  little 
volume  of  German  poems,  Kurzer  Zeitvertreib,  which  was 
first  published  in  1810.  It  quickly  ran  through  several 
editions — a  popularity  indicative  of  some  sort  of  unusual  merit. 
Not  many  of  the  volumes  reviewed  in  the  present  work  were  ever 
honored  with  a  second  edition.  As  indicated  on  the  title  page, 


54  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

the  poems  composing  this  volume,  which  were  written  during 
the  author's  great  pioneer  missionary  labors,  were  not  to  be 
received  with  undue  seriousness.  It  was  intended  as  a  Zeit- 
vertreib — a  "  Brief  Pastime,"  with  which  to  while  away  a  pleas- 
ant half  hour.  But  earnest  preacher  as  he  was,  the  poet  did 
not  write  for  mere  amusement  any  more  than  for  mere  art's 
sake.  His  purpose  was  to  inculcate  the  principles  of  sound 
morality  and  a  manner  of  life  consistent  with  Christian  char- 
acter. The  moral  aim  is  carried  out  in  an.  effective  and  popular 
manner,  in  which  sturdy  sense  and  honest  sentiment  take  the 
place  of  poetic  fancy  and  poetic  art.  Many  of  the  brief  lyrics 
were  intended  to  be  sung,  and  the  entire  collection  must  have 
exerted  a  salutary  influence  among  the  early  German  settlers  of 
Virginia  and  other  states. 

The  first  lyric  in  the  book  is  entitled  Heathenish  Housekeep- 
ing, of  which  two  stanzas  are  here  translated  in  the  measure  and 
rhyme  of  the  original: — 

"  How  oft  we  hear  the  sad  complaint 

That  Christian  men  are  living 
Like  heathen  who  without  restraint 

Their  lives  to  sloth  are  giving, 
And  live  in  sloth  their  whole  life  long, 
Just  like  the  copper-colored  throng 
Of  squalid,  lazy  Indians. 

"  While  sons  and  fathers  hug  the  fire, 

And  winds  each  window  rattle, 
The  mother  trudges  to  the  byre, 

To  tend  the  horse  and  cattle. 
The  lazy  louts  their  places  hold, 
Nor  budge  an  inch,  though  chilled  with  cold 
In  comes  the  faithful  mother." 

Our  preacher-poet  has  a  Warning  to  Maidens,  in  which  he 
urges  them  to  caution  in  choosing  a  husband.  They  are  not  to 


THE  PERIOD  OF  THE  REVOLUTION  55 

let  themselves  be  imposed  upon  by  fine  clothes  and  smooth 
address;  for  unions  with  a  no  more  substantial  basis  are  apt 
to  prove  disastrous : — 

"  Ye  maidens  all  I  bid  beware, 

There's  much  in  life  to  harm  you; 
In  marriage  have  a  special  care, 

Lest  worthless  rascals  charm  you; 
That  man  is  surely  not  the  best 
Whose  talk  is  false  and  flattering  jest — 
His  smoothness  should  alarm  you." 

This  faithful  preacher  holds  up  a  Mirror  for  Brandy-Lovers, 
in  which  he  shows  the  harmful  effects  of  that  popular  beverage, 
and  warns  mothers  against  the  prevalent  habit  of  giving  it  to 
infants.  He  sums  up  the  matter  in  the  last  stanza : — 

"  I  pray  you  therefore  stop  and  think 
Before  you  form  a  taste  for  drink: 
It  has  no  use  in  daily  food, 
Its  taste  is  surely  not  so  good; 
Ah  no;  its  bane  consumes  the  frame, 
And  ends  too  soon  life's  heavenly  flame. 
Oh  then,  for  love  of  life,  forego 
This  fatal  source  of  pain  and  woe." 

These  extracts  will  serve  to  illustrate  the  manner  and  themes 
of  this  preacher-poet.  Good  sense,  rnanly  sentiment,  telling 
illustrations,  and  biting  wit — qualities  that  at  once  arrested  the 
attention  and  convinced  the  judgment — justly  rendered  these 
lyrics  popular.  Paul  Henkel  died  in  1825,  and  is  buried  in 
New  Market.  His  great-grandsons  still  conduct  there  a  pub- 
lishing house  which,  in  its  long  history,  has  rendered  valuable 
service  to  religion  and  the  State. 

Judith  Lomax. — The   fair   authoress   of   The   Notes   of   an 


56  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

American  Lyre,  published  in  Richmond  in  1813,  informs  us  on 
the  title  page  that  she  was  "  a  native  of  Virginia."  The  little 
volume  in  question  beautifully  illustrates  the  delicate  culture 
of  that  good  old  time  before  the  "  new  woman  "  was  dreamed 
of,  or  the  gentle  housewife  ventured  upon  a  thought  beyond  the 
sweet  domestic  sphere.  The  sensitive  spirit  of  Miss  Judith 
Lomax  responded  quickly  to  every  poetic  appeal.  The  gift  of 
a  tuberose  inspired  at  least  a  quatrain,  and  the  presentation 
of  a  lock  of  hair  evoked  a  whole  poem. 

In  place  of  criticism,  the  interesting  preface  is  given  in  full : 
"  Strange !  that  a  timid  Female,  borne  on  Fancy's  wing,  should 
dare  to  soar  aloft  to  the  Muses !  But  no,  the  little  productions 
of  my  pen  deserve  not  to  be  dignified  with  the  title  of  Poetry; 
they  are  only  the  little  effusions  of  a  guileless  heart,  which 
momentary  occasions,  and  perhaps  a  too  romantic  imagination, 
have  given  rise  to,  whilst  I,  fond  of  scribbling,  have  sought 
amusement  in  my  leisure  moments  by  transmitting  them  to 
paper.  Perhaps  none  of  them  can  stand  the  test  of  criticism; 
and  some  were  written  at  the  early  period  of  childhood.  Indeed 
this  volume  is  nothing  more  than  a  Note  Book,  which  has  long 
been  the  repository  of  all  the  wayward  fancies  and  poetic  nights 
of  a  mind  prone  to  enthusiasm.  Those  pieces  in  the  first  part 
of  the  book  are  the  first  flights  of  a  youthful  mind,  and  may, 
perhaps,  be  most  exceptionable,  as  being  most  trifling." 

The  following  Address  from  a  Mole  to  a  young  lady  who 
called  the  cats  to  destroy  it,  will  serve  for  illustration  of  our 
author's  range  and  art: — 

"  Lo!  trembling  at  your  feet. 
Your  pity  I  entreat, 

And  beg  that  tortures  you  will  spare; 
For  life  I  do  not  sue, 
Life  I'll  not  ask  of  you, 

For  you'd  not  grant  it,  cruel  fair! 


THE  PERIOD  OF  THE  REVOLUTION  57 

"  But  ere  it  is  too  late, 
And  ere  I  meet  my  fate, 

Oh,  let  me  tell  thee,  fair  divine! 
That  Pity's  pearly  tear, 
To  Beauty  should  be  dear, 

For  soft  it  makes  the  eye  to  shine." 

Daniel  Bryan. — This  author  was  a  native  of  Rockingham 
County,  where  his  father,  an  emigrant  from  Pennslyvania,  had 
located  in  1744.  He  was  named  after  Daniel  Boone,  whose 
labors  and  adventures  as  a  pioneer  he  was  to  sing  later  in  elabo- 
rate strains.  He  was  a  graduate  of  Washington  College  at 
Lexington,  Va.,  from  which  he  carried  to  his  rural  home  a  self- 
sacrificing  devotion  to  the  poetic  muse.  He  lamented  the 
prosaic,  utilitarian  spirit  by  which  he  was  surrounded,  and  con- 
scientiously withheld  himself  "  from  the  orbit  of  lucrative  exer- 
tion." 

He  was  not  without  apprehensions  that  his  persistent  poetic 
dreaming  might  "  disseminate  for  him  the  seeds  of  a  harvest 
of  penury  and  melancholy."  Indeed,  there  were  prosaic,  unsym- 
pathetic friends  who  admonished  him  about  the  unwisdom  of 
his  ways.  But  with  the  noble  enthusiasm  of  conscious  genius, 
he  preferred  his  poetic  raptures  to  the  accumulation  of  sordid 
lucre.  "  Infatuated,"  he  says,  "  as  may  be  considered  the  son 
of  poverty,  who,  while  thousands  around  him  are  sedulously 
occupied  in  gathering  riches  from  the  golden  sand-banks  of 
fortune,  loiters  from  the  crowd  to  listen  to  the  lays  of  the  grove, 
to  gaze  on  the  sparkling  of  a  stream,  or  to  pluck  the  flowers 
which  spangle  its  borders;  yet  would  he  not  forego  the  felicity 
of  his  lonely  ramble  and  simple  amusements,  for  all  the  glitter- 
ing accumulations  of  their  toil." 

He  appreciated  the  grand  poetic  possibilities  to  be  found  in 
American  scenery,  institutions,  and  achievements,  and  deplored 
the  general  and  callous  neglect  of  the  muses.  His  glowing 


58  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

fancy  suggested  achievements  that  would  eclipse  the  literary 
glory  of  the  Old  World.  "Who/'  he  asks/ "that  has  a  soul 
susceptible  of  ennobling  sensations,  can  ramble  through  Colum- 
bia's forests,  hear  the  roar  of  her  rivers,  gaze  on  the  grandeur  of 
her  mountains,  and  muse  on  her  glorious  liberties,  without 
breaking  forth  into  the  rhapsodies  of  divinest  enthusiasm? 
Yet,  how  few  there  are  in  this  section  of  her  republic,  who  have 
ventured  to  resound  in  verse  the  praise  of  her  charms  or  the 
honors  of  her  distinguished  sons!  A  thousand  times  has  the 
author  beheld  in  fancy  the  genius  of  Columbian  poesy  standing 
on  the  wildest  cliffs  of  Alleghany,  tuning  the  tear-twinkling 
chords  of  her  lyre,  and  warbling  at  intervals,  unheeded,  the 
sweetest  raptures  of  inspiration ;  while  the  wasted  strains,  thrown 
from  hill  to  hill,  sunk  and  expired  in  the  tenderest  murmurs 
of  neglect." 

In  later  years,  as  with  most  of  us,  the  hard  realities  of  life 
happily  cured  our  author  of  his  idle,  dreamy  sentimentalism, 
and  he  became  a  substantial  and  useful  citizen.  Perhaps  this 
reformation  was  due  in  part  to  his  good  wives,  for  he  was  twice 
married.  He  moved  from  Eockingham  to  Alexandria,  where  he 
was  postmaster  for  about  thirty  years.  His  descendants  have 
filled  honorable  stations  in  the  service  of  their  country. 

Bryan  was  the  author  of  several  poetical  works,  among  which 
may  be  mentioned  an  Appeal  for  Suffering  Genius  (1826)  and 
Thoughts  (1830).  But  The  Mountain  Muse,  published  at 
Harrisonburg  in  1813,  from  the  preface  of  which  the  foregoing 
quotations  are  taken,  claims  our  chief  consideration.  It  is  a  well- 
meant  but  pathetic  effort  to  weave  the  adventures  of  Daniel 
Boone  into  an  epic  nearly  as  long  as  the  Aeneid.  It  finds  its 
starting-point  beyond  the  Garden  of  Eden, — 

"  When  first  their  dark  and  yet  untraveled  rounds 
Through  the  inane  expanse  of  pristine  night 
The  planetary  conglobations  rolled." 


THE  PERIOD  OF  THE  REVOLUTION  59 

At  a  council  of  seraphs  held  in  "  a  firmamental  hall  erected 
on  the  summit  of  the  Alleghany,"  the  hero  was  selected  for  the 
exploration  and  settlement  of  Kentucky.  The  nominating 
seraph,  whose  name  is  Enterprise,  pronounces  a  eulogy  that 
would  do  credit  to  a  national  political  convention.  A  few  lines 
will  make  this  statement  clear  :— 

"  Generous,  guileless,  kind, 
The  gripe  of  sneaking  Avarice  ne'er  compressed 
His  princely  heart.    No  mean  dissembling  smiles, 
Nor  smooth,  deceitful  speech,  his  views  conceal, 
Nor  form  a  feint,  his  unsuspecting  friends 
Within  a  venal  snare  to  lure.    He  gives 
To  modest  indigence,  with  bounteous  will, 
A  liberal  portion  of  his  little  store. 
The  ostentatious  pageantry  of  power, 
The  moon-shine  splendors  of  high-titled  birth, 
And  fluttering  fashion's  vain,  fantastic  pomp, 
For  his  sage  mind,  no  more  attractions  have, 
Than  shining  gossamers  upon  the  winds, 
Or  glittering  froth,  upon  the  turbid  streams." 

Then  follows  through  the  six  remaining  books,  of  eight  or  nine 
hundred  lines  each,  a  sufficiently  authentic  account  of  the  adven- 
tures and  achievements  of  the  Kentucky  pioneer.  But  it  is  all 
in  vain;  far  greater  learning  and  higher  poetic  gifts  could  not 
remove  the  painful  discord  between  the  simple,  prosaic  facts  of 
pioneer  life  and  the  lofty  strains  of  epic  poetry. 

Dr.  Wharton. — The  Virginia  Wreath,  consisting,  as  the  title 
page  informs  us,  of  original  poems,  was  published  at  Winchester, 
Va.,  in  1814.  The  author,  John  Wharton,  M.  D.,  was  from 
Stevensburg  in  Culpeper  County.  He  went  abroad  in  1803, 
and  studied  medicine  at  Edinburgh,  where  he  became  president 
of  the  Royal  Physical  Society.  Subsequently  he  returned  to 
his  native  place  to  practice  his  profession ;  and  no  doubt  his  wish 


60  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

to  be  buried  in  the  family  grave-yard,  by  the  side  of  a  loved 
brother  and  sister,  was  fulfilled: — 

"  There,  when  I  die,  let  me  too  he  conveyed; 

There  let  my  friends  some  pious  drops  bestow; 
Then,  'mid  my  kindred,  let  my  dust  be  laid, 

And  o'er  my  grave  let  spring's  first  roses  grow." 

Like  many  others  at  that  period,  when  poetic  authorship  was 
not  regarded  as  a  very  creditable  thing,  Dr.  Wharton  was  per- 
suaded by  his  friends,  as  he  tells  us,  to  publish  his  verse.  He 
recognized  the  justice  of  the  Horatian  maxim  that  "  neither  men, 
nor  gods,  nor  booksellers'  shops  tolerate  mediocre  poets." 
"  And  certainly,  after  a  declaration  like  this,"  he  continues,  "  it 
is  with  a  foreboding  heart,  and  trembling  step,  that  he  ap- 
proaches the  temple  of  Apollo,  or  essays  to  pluck  from  the  Par- 
nassian wreath  one  solitary  sprig  to  adorn  his  humble  brow." 

His  themes  are  classical,  patriotic,  and  personal.  There  is 
nothing  remarkable  about  his  verse ;  it  is  in  thought  and  expres- 
sion about  what  an  educated  physician  of  his  day  might  be 
expected  to  write.  Here  is  a  brief  poem  On  Orpheus'  Lyre: — 

"  "When  Orpheus  strikes  his  heavenly  lyre, 
Sure  every  breast  must  feel  poetic  fire! 
The  gods  themselves,  with  grateful  joy,  attend, 
While  aerial  oaks  their  cloud-topt  summits  bend; 
For  who  can  listen  to  Amphion's *  art, 
But  feels  sweet  transports  thrill  his  raptured  heart." 

The  Ode  to  Columbia,  which  is  not  without  merit,  concludes 
with  a  eulogy  of  Washington : — 

"  Immortal  laurels  o'er  thy  grave  shall  bloom, 
While  Freedom's  sons  will  on  the  mournful  tomb 
These  words  inscribe:     Here  rests  beneath  this  stone 
A  greater  man  than  ever  filled  a  throne." 

1 "  Said  to  be  one  of  the  inventors  of  music."  (Dr.  Wharton's 
note). 


THE  PERIOD  OF  THE  REVOLUTION  61 

A  prelude  to  the  War  of  1812  may  be  found  in  The  Sailor, 
who  exclaims,  as  he  toils  imprisoned  on  a  British  ship : — 

"Rise,  vengeance,  rise!  awake  from  sleep, 

Unfurl  thy  banners — quickly  fly 
To  tame  the  usurpers  of  the  deep, 

And  hush  the  widowed  mother's  sigh." 

Eichard  Dabney. — The  author  of  Poems,  Original  and  Trans- 
lated, was  a  native  of  Louisa  county,  where  he  was  brought  up 
on  a  farm.  His  name,  originally  D'Aubigne,  connects  him  with 
the  Huguenots  of  France.  Though  he  never  had  the  advantage 
of  a  collegiate  training,  he  became,  through  diligent  private 
study,  a  good  classical  scholar.  He  enjoyed  the  large  convivial 
hospitality  of  the  baronial  plantations  in  his  part  of  the  state. 
Had  he  yielded  less  to  convivial  temptations — 

"  He  might  have  won  the  meed  of  fame, 
Essayed  and  reached  a  worthier  aim." 

In  the  introduction  of  the  volume  above  referred  to,  which 
was  published  in  1815,  Dabney  quotes  with  approval  a  principle 
of  art  laid  down  by  Alison :  "  In  all  the  fine  arts,  that  composi- 
tion is  most  excellent,  in  which  the  different  parts  most  fully 
unite  in  the  production  of  one  unmingled  emotion,  and  that 
taste  the  most  perfect,  when  the  perception  of  this  relation  of 
objects,  in  point  of  expression,  is  most  delicate  and  precise." 
He  therefore  "submits  to  public  consideration  a  species  of 
composition  which  he  ventures  to  denominate  the  moral  minia- 
ture painting  of  poetry;  inasmuch  as  the  exertions  of  the  graphic 
art  are  generally  restricted  to  a  single  point  in  relation  to  time, 
and  to  a  paucity  of  objects,  in  relation  to  expression." 

The  effort  to  follow  this  principle,  as  well  as  the  taste 
developed  by  a  study  of  the  ancient  classics,  has  given  to  Dab- 
ney's  poems  a  unity  and  conciseness  very  unusual  at  the  time 


62  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

he  wrote.  His  literary  art  is  excellent;  and  had  he  allowed 
himself  greater  freedom  and  wider  range  in  the  choice  of  sub- 
jects, his  publisher  would  hardly  have  complained  of  a  losing 
venture,  nor  would  his  poems  have  been  entirely  forgotten.  A 
Bingle  quotation  must  suffice.  The  little  poem  Spring  is 
intended  to  illustrate  "that  state  of  mind,  which  cannot  be 
excited  by  objects  of  beauty  to  the  train  of  thought  constituted 
by  ideas  of  emotion." 

"  I  view  not,  in  thy  opening  flowers, 

O  spring,  the  signs  of  gay  delight; 

And  see  not,  'midst  thy  genial  showers, 

The  young  life  bursting  into  light. 

"  For  I  have  viewed  those  opening  flowers, 

And  revelled  in  that  gay  delight, 
In  happy  scenes  and  peaceful  hours, 

That  never  more  can  charm  my  sight. 

"  Then  keep  thy  smiles,  and  keep  thy  pleasure; 

Thy  bloom;  thy  vernal  joy  impart 
To  those,  who  own  that  sacred  treasure 
The  blessing  of  a  quiet  heart. 

"  Dear  winter's  frown  that  darkly  lowers, 

O'er  Nature's  form,  with  gloom  opprest, 
Than  all  thy  smiles  and  rosy  hours, 
Is  more  congenial  to  my  heart." 


nr 

FIRST  NATIONAL  PERIOD 

(1815-1861) 

CHAPTEE  VII 
Social  Condition  and  Early  Writers 

The  first  national  period,  which  extends  from  the  close  of 
the  War  of  1812  to  the  beginning  of  the  Civil  War  in  1861, 
exhibits  marvelous  progress.  The  arduous  tasks  imposed  upon 
the  people  during  the  Colonial  and  Eevolutionary  period  had 
been  successfully  achieved.  The  dreams  of  our  forefathers  be- 
gan to  be  realized.  They  caught  clearer  glimpses  of  that  future 
of  our  country,  in  which,  as  Hegel  said,  "the  burden  of  the 
world's  history  shall  reveal  itself." 

With  the  establishment  of  peace  in  1815,  the  United  States 
entered  upon  an  unparalleled  era  of  prosperity.  The  develop- 
ment of  the  country  went  forward  with  great  rapidity.  An 
increasing  tide  of  immigration,  chiefly  from  Great  Britain, 
Ireland,  and  Germany,  swept  to  our  shores.  The  great  valley 
of  the  Mississippi  was  occupied ;  trade  and  manufacture  built  up 
flourishing  towns  and  cities;  excellent  highways,  railroads,  and 
steamboat  lines  facilitated  interstate  communication.  The 
population  of  our  country  increased  from  8,438,000  in  1815  to 
32,000,000  in  1861,  thus  equaling  the  leading  nations  of  Europe. 
In  the  wonderful  material  development  of  this  period,  Virginia 
had  a  share. 

The  intellectual  culture  of  the  people  kept  pace  with  their 
material  expansion.  Education  received  increasing  attention; 
and  during  the  period  under  consideration,  no  fewer  than  one 
hundred  and  forty-nine  colleges  were  established  in  different 

[63] 


64  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

parts  of  our  country.  Of  these  Virginia  had  a  goodly  number, 
which  have  exerted  an  incalculable  influence  upon  the  culture 
and  welfare  of  the  State.  The  University  of  Virginia,  the  child 
of  Jefferson,  was  founded  in  1819 ;  Randolph-Macon  College,  in 
1832;  Emory  and  Henry  College,  in  1838;  the  Virginia  Military 
Institute,  in  1839;  Richmond  College,  in  1840;  and  Roanoke 
College,  in  1852.  Hampden-Sidney  College  and  Washington 
College — now  Washington  and  Lee  University — had  been  estab- 
lished toward  the  close  of  the  preceding  century.  Though  there 
was  no  vigorous  public  school  system,  parental  solicitude  and 
private  enterprise  made  more  or  less  liberal  provision  for  the 
instruction  of  the  young  of  both  sexes. 

The  periodical  press  of  our  country,  during  the  first  national 
period,  became  a  powerful  agency  both  in  the  diffusion  of  know- 
ledge and  the  promotion  of  letters.  Some  of  our  ablest  writers — 
Bryant,  Poe,  Whittier  and  Lowell — served  as  editors.  Virginia 
shared  in  this  great  intellectual  movement;  and  as  a  result 
every  important  town  in  the  State — Alexandria,  Richmond, 
Norfolk,  Petersburg,  Charlottesville,  Staunton,  Lynchburg — 
could  boast  of  its  newspapers. 

During  this  period  Richmond  became  the  chief  literary  center 
of  Virginia,  and  with  the  possible  exception  of  Charleston,  the 
chief  literary  center  of  the  South.  It  was  the  home  of  Poe 
during  his  earlier  years,  and  of  the  Southern  Literary  Messenger, 
in  its  day  the  most  influential  magazine  south  of  the  Potomac. 
It  was  founded,  as  set  forth  in  its  first  issue  in  1834,  to  encour- 
age literature  in  Virginia  and  the  other  states  of  the  South; 
and  during  its  career  of  thirty  years,  it  stimulated  literary 
activity  in  a  remarkable  degree.  Among  its  contributors  we 
find  Poe,  Simms,  Hayne,  Timrod,  John  Bsten  Cooke,  John  R. 
Thompson,  and  others — a  galaxy  of  the  best  known  names  in 
Southern  literature 

The  establishment  of  the  Republic  naturally  undermined  the 


FIRST  NATIONAL  PERIOD  65 

old  aristocratic  regime  in  Virginia.  The  abolition  of  entailed 
estates  gradually  destroyed  the  former  baronial  organization  of 
society.  The  spirit  of  democratic  equality,  which  had  found  a 
voice  in  the  Declaration  of  Independence,  gained  a  prevalent 
strength.  "  Dress  and  manners,"  as  John  Esten  Cooke  tells 
us  in  his  Virginia,  "underwent  a  change.  The  aristocratic 
planter  of  the  eighteenth  century,  with  his  powder  and  silk 
stockings,  gave  place  to  the  democratic  citizen,  with  his  plain 
clothes  and  plain  manners.  The  theories  of  Jefferson,  who 
received  the  name  of  the  '  Apostle  of  Democracy/  were  adopted 
as  the  rule  of  society,  and  pervaded  the  entire  community. 
Class  distinctions  were  ignored  as  a  remnant  of  social  supersti- 
tion." 

The  period  under  consideration  was  one  of  considerable  liter- 
ary activity  in  Virginia.  The  various  departments  of  prose — 
biography,  history,  fiction,  science,  law — were  all  represented  by 
notable  works.  Wirt's  Life  of  Patrick  Henry  (1817)  gives 
a  glowing  portrait  of  the  eloquent  patriot.  The  Life  and 
Times  of  James  Madison,  by  William  C.  Reeves  (1859),  dwells 
with  delight  on  the  Cavalier  origin  of  Virginia  society.  How- 
ison  and  Campbell  wrote  interesting  histories  of  the  Old  Domin- 
ion. Bishop  Meade's  well-known  work,  Old  Churches f  Min- 
isters, and  Families,  throws  much  light  on  the  genealogical 
history  of  the  State.  Matthew  Fontaine  Maury  won  inter- 
national fame  by  his  Physical  Geography  of  the  Sea;  while 
Dr.  Archibald  Alexander  became  one  of  the  foremost  of 
American  theologians.  In  the  Cavaliers  of  Virginia  Wil- 
liam A.  Carruthers  described  Bacon's  Rebellion,  and  in  the 
Knights  of  the  Golden  Horseshoe,  Spotswood's  march  to  the 
mountains.  The  Partisan  Leader,  a  political  novel  by  Judge 
Beverley  Tucker,  was  a  sort  of  prophecy,  which  found  at  least 
a  partial  fulfilment  in  the  secession  of  the  Southern  States  and 
in  the  Civil  War  that  followed.  During  this  same  period,  nearly 
P.  of  Va.— 5 


66  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

fifty   volumes   of   poetry,   most   of   which  here   find  historical 
record  for  the  first  time,  were  issued  from  the  press. 

William  Maxwell. — William  Maxwell  was  a  native  of  Nor- 
folk, Va.  After  graduating  at  Yale  College,  he  practiced  law  in 
his  native  city,  and  gradually  rose  to  eminence  for  his  ability 
and  legal  attainments.  He  served  several  terms  in  the  legis- 
lature of  Virginia,  and  afterwards  filled  for  six  years  (1838- 
1844)  the  office  of  president  of  Hampden-Sidney  College.  He 
was  deeply  interested  in  the  antiquities  of  the  State,  and  in 
1848  established  the  Virginia  Historical  Register,  of  which  he 
edited  the  first  six  volumes. 

In  1812  he  published  a  volume  of  Poems,  which  four  years 
later  (1816),  he  brought  out  in  a  revised  and  enlarged  form. 
It  is  this  second  edition  that  forms  the  basis  of  the  present 
study.  To  Maxwell,  as  might  be  inferred  from  his  busy  and 
useful  life,  poetry  was  merely  an  avocation.  So  he  says  to  the 
Muse, — 

"  I  ask  not  fame — content  to  be  unknown — 
I  only  woo  thee  for  thyself  alone; 
And  fondly  trifle  with  the  tuneful  art, 
To  please  my  fancy,  and  indulge  my  heart." 

It  is  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  the  present  indifference  to 
poetry  is  a  new  thing.  In  The  Bards  of  Columbia  our 
author  laments  the  neglect  with  which  the  muses  are  treated. 
This  neglect — far  too  general  in  ante-bellum  days — is  the  excuse 
he  makes  to  President  Dwight  for  not  writing  more : — 

"  Why  should  he  write  in  these  prosaic  times, 
When  few,  if  any,  care  a  fig  for  rhymes?" 

Yet  he  felt  that  the  bard,  though  perhaps  not  equal  to  the 
warrior  or  statesman,  still  "  deserved  his  share  of  praise." 


FIRST  NATIONAL  PERIOD  67 

"  He  spurs  the  hero  to  romantic  deeds, 
And  soothes  his  manly  sorrow  while  he  bleeds; 
On  ready  wings  he  flies  to  virtue's  aid, 
Knight-errant  to  the  sweet,  forsaken  maid. 

*  *  *  * 

'  Tis  he  who  wins  the  little  school-boy's  ear, 
Or  cheats  the  maiden  of  a  gracious  tear; 
Instructs  the  lawyer  in  his  winning  art, 
And  helps  the  lover  to  his  lady's  heart. 
With  oily  words  he  calms  the  Passions'  rage, 
Delights  gay  youth,  and  soothes  declining  age; 
With  pious  strains  prepares  the  saint  to  die, 
And  wafts  the  spirit  to  her  native  sky." 

The  War  of  1812  finds  place  in  several  spirited  pieces,  but 
none  is  better  than  the  Naval  Song : — 

"  Come  all  ye  tars  that  brave  the  sea, 

Now  hear  Columbia's  call. 
Her  glorious  banner  soon  shall  be 

Our  canopy  or  pall. 
We  rush  to  meet  the  vaunting  foe, 
And  lay  his  proud  ambition  low. 
Columbia's  gallant  tars 

Shall  range  the  ocean  free, 
And  bear  her  union  stars 
In  triumph  o'er  the  sea. 

"  We  fight  with  no  ambitious  aim 

To  rule  the  waves  alone; 
Nor  to  destroy  another's  claim, 

But  to  maintain  our  own; 
And  those  base  chains  of  servile  fear 
We  would  not  give,  we  will  not  wear. 
Columbia's  gallant  tars,  etc. 

"  Contending  for  our  equal  right, 

Against  usurping  pride, 
We  war  with  unresisted  might, 
For  Heaven  is  on  our  side; 


68  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

And  'tis  no  mortal  hand,  we  know, 
That  aims  our  thunders  at  the  foe. 

Columbia's  gallant  tars,  etc." 

Of  the  tales,  fables  and  love-songs  of  the  book  it  is  not  neces- 
sary to  speak.  They  are  about  what  a  man  of  literary  taste 
and  culture  would  write,  if  he  chose  to  amuse  himself  in  that 
way. 

Joseph  Thomas. — The  author  of  A  Poetical  Descant  on  the 
Primeval  and  Present  State  of  Mankind,  published  in  Win- 
chester in  1816,  was  a  minister  of  the  gospel,  as  he  informs  us 
on  the  title  page.  As  might  therefore  be  expected,  the  "  Poet- 
ical Descant"  is  pervaded  by  a  deeply  religious  spirit  and  an 
unexceptionable  orthodoxy.  In  its  scope  and  theme  the  poem 
belongs  to  the  epic  class;  and  in  its  general  purpose,  though 
hardly  in  its  execution,  it  resembles  Pollok's  Course  of  Time. 
It  begins  with  the  golden  age  of  man's  primeval  condition, 
when — 

"  Time  was  young, 
And  man,  the  beasts,  and  all  in  glory  sung." 

It  introduces,  after  the  manner  of  Milton,  the  temptation  in 
Eden,  by  which  the  state  of  man  was  changed : — 

"  The  serpent  now  which  crawls  in  dust  and  shame 
Was  then  a  beast  of  note  and  handsome  frame." 

Next  follows  a  general  and  unrelieved  view  of  the  miseries 
of  mankind : — 

"  Distresses  rise  and  spread  their  bane, 
And  find  all  classes  with  their  pain; 
Some  are  naked,  wretched,  hungry,  poor, 
And  thousands  beg  from  door  to  door." 


FIRST  NATIONAL  PERIOD  69 

Other  cantos,  which  are  called  sections,  review  in  succession 
the  sorrowful  history  of  Asia,  Africa,  and  Europe.  Last  of 
all,  America  claims  consideration,  and  light  falls,  for  the  first 
time,  on  the  picture.  The  soil,  climate,  history,  and  institutions 
of  our  country  are  the  subjects  of  much  laudatory  verse : — 

"  Our  land  a  refuge  is  for  all  distrest, 
By  nature's  hand  most  bountifully  blest; 
See   midland   seas  and   broader  lakes   display 
Their  glittering  glories  to  the  beams  of  day." 

In  the  poem  history  is  brought  down  to  date,  for  the  author 
sings  the  happy  conclusion  of  the  War  of  1812.  But  no  ideal 
state  of  happiness  and  virtue  follows  in  the  path  of  victory: — 

"  Tho'  war  has  ceased,  and  plenty  smiles  around, 
Great  discontent  and  murmurs  now  abound, 
Our  selfish  souls  so  avaricious  grown, 

'  Gainst  Heaven's  high  will  we  utter  out  the  moan." 

In  the  concluding  cantos,  the  poet  justly  contends  that  peace 
and  happiness  are  to  be  found  alone  in  the  practice  of  virtue  and 
piety.  There  is  a  flamboyant  description  of  the  end  of  the 
world,  in  which  we  find  an  abundance  of  interesting  and  sublime 
detail : — 

"  The   bursting   comets   make   a   horrid    crash." 

This  remarkable  epic  is  preceded  by  a  somewhat  elaborate 
preface,  in  which  the  author  explains  his  general  view  of  man- 
kind. In  his  survey  of  the  world,  he  dwells  both  upon  national 
and  individual  life.  "  The  author,"  he  says,  "  contemplates  the 
nations  of  his  species  as  the  raging  billows  that  undulate  the 
bosom  of  the  deep.  One  rises,  foams,  rages,  climbs,  and  in- 
creases with  continued  rapidity,  and  threatens  for  a  while  to 
swallow  up  its  inferiors,  and  take  the  boundless  main  for  its 
empire;  but  as  it  increases  its  size,  it  adds  to  its  own  weight, 


70  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

it  moves  slower,  the  wind  subsides,  its  strength  is  exhausted; 
over-burdened  it  sinks,  it  dies  away,  and  is  itself  lost  in  the 
boundless  waste  of  waters. 

"  Man,  as  an  individual,  is  considered  as  a  bee,  who,  in  the 
morning  of  summer's  calm  sunshine,  takes  his  flight  to  an  ex- 
tensive field  of  melliferous  flowers,  blossoms  and  roses;  with 
avidity  he  flies  to  the  loved  prospect;  in  haste  he  sips  at  each 
till  he  is  fully  loaded;  then,  with  all  the  accelerations  of  his 
might,  returns  home  and  there  hoards  the  fruit  of  his  assiduous 
toil.  Thus  the  day — the  whole  summer,  and  autumn  is  taken 
up  in  the  incessant  going,  laboring,  and  returning,  till  he  has 
richly  supplied  his  cone  with  life's  luxurious  sweets — all  this, 
not  for  himself  but  often  for  his  murderers,  and  generally  for 
those  who  neither  care  for,  regard  his  labors,  nor  thank  him  for 
his  gains ;  and  who  in  the  riot  of  his  spoils,  if  they  be  somewhat 
scant,  execrate  him  for  his  misfortunes,  and  deride  him  for  his 
poverty."  All  this  will  be  recognized  as  a  rather  atrabilious 
way  of  looking  at  life. 

Mrs.  Davis. — Martha  Ann  Davis  wrote  the  Poems  of  Laura, 
an  Original  American  Work,  which  was  published  in  Peters- 
burg in  1818.  She  honestly  thought  she  was  making  a  contribu- 
tion to  American  literature,  the  poverty  of  which  she  laments 
and  excuses.  "  It  must  be  acknowledged,"  she  says  in  the  pre- 
face, "that  the  Muse  of  our  country  is  yet  in  its  infancy;  the 
productions  of  native  genius  have  held  out  to  us  only  the  bright 
promise  of  future  eminence;  and  it  is  in  the  progress  of  time 
that  we  must  hope  for  the  consummation  of  its  excellence." 

The  opening  poem  is  A  Simple  Sketch  of  Laura's  Past  and 
Present  Life,  from  which  we  learn  that  she  lived, — 

"  In  rural  cot  where  honey-suckles  twined, 
With  woodbine,  rose,  and  jessamine  combined; 
Where  each  fond  heart  was  to  the  other  true, 
And  where  the  hours  winged  with  affection  flew." 


FIRST  NATIONAL  PERIOD  71 

The  poetic  impulse,  as  with,  many  gifted  children  of  song, 
came  early;  for,  as  she  tells  us, — 

"  At  twelve  years  old  she  often  tried  a  rhyme, 
And  oft  was  pleased  to  hear  her  verses  chime." 

The  early  death  of  her  father  cut  short  the  education  for 
which  she  sighed.  At  the  age  of  fourteen  she  felt  the  raptures 
of  reciprocal  affection,  in  which  no  embarrassment  was  caused 
by  an  unduly  coy  and  maidenly  reserve : — 

"  When  evening  shades  stole  o'er  the  cottage  hill, 
For  him  she  watched  until  her  blood  ran  chill; 
They  met  with  smiles  at  the  dear  humble  door; 
No  two  were  happier,  though  they  both  were  poor. 
They'd  sit  and  chat  the  cheerful  hours  away, 
And  when  he'd  go,  she  wished  he  still  could  stay; 
He'd  press  her  fondly  to  his  faithful  heart, 
While  both  regretted  they  were  forced  to  part." 

Marriage  followed  after  a  prudent  delay  of  five  years ;  "  little 
cherubs  "  came ;  death  invaded  the  home  circle ;  but  amid  the 
joys  and  sorrows  of  life,  she  still  pursued  her  verse-making  on 
unpretentious  themes: — 

"Virtue,  fair  friendship,  truth  and  love  sincere, 
And  calm  content  in  moss-grown  cottage  dear; 
"The  lisping  babes  that  prattle  on  the  knee 
With   rosy   cheeks  and  bosoms  full  of  glee;' 
The  tender  husband,  fond,  humane,  and  kind, 
Within  whose  breast  each  virtue  is  confined, 
Are  the  loved  themes  that  give  her  bosom  joy, 
And  still  will  be,  till  time  the  ties  destroy  [s]. 

Reflections  on  Pleasure,  written  the  year  the  volume  was 
published,  may  be  taken  as  representing  her  modest  poetic 
gifts  at  their  full  maturity.  The  first  three  stanzas  are  given : — 


POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 


"  Ah!  pleasure's  but  an  empty  charmi, 

A  vision  fleeting  as  'tis  gay; 
We  slumber  in  the  pleasing  maze, 
Till  like  a  dream  it  fades  away. 

Ye  thoughtless  gay,  can  pleasure  flow 
From  splendid  halls  or  gay  attire? 

Can  they  that  peace  of  mind  bestow, 

Which  leaves  the  heart  without  desire? 

Ah,  no,  for  in  retirement  dwells 

The  heart's  best  pleasure — sweet  content; 

There  the  calm  bosom  glows  with  joy, 
For  envy  there  can  ne'er  torment." 

Mrs.  Davis  seems  to  have  exemplified  this  ideal  in  her  own 
life ;  and  though  she  was  deprived  of  the  enjoyments  that  wealth, 
high  intellectual  culture,  and  contact  with  the  larger  interests  of 
the  world  are  apt  to  bring,  the  simple  piety  of  her  humble 
sphere  of  thought  and  activity  is  not  without  an  enviable  charm, 

William  Branch,  Jr.— William  Branch,  Jr.,  the  author  of  a 
poem  on  Life,  which  was  published  in  Eichmond  in  1819, 
was  a  native  of  Prince  Edward  County,  Va.  From  lack  of 
means  he  was  prevented  from  acquiring  a  collegiate  education; 
but  through  private  study  he  attained  no  mean  degree  of  culture. 
To  use  his  own  words,  "  I  consulted  my  inclination  to  improve 
and  become  happy,  by  devoting  myself  to  literary  research  amid 
the  shades  of  tranquil  obscurity,  to  which,  through  my  insuper- 
able fondness  for  rural  delights,  I  now  feel  completely  wedded." 

The  poem  Life,  which  is  "dedicated  to  the  social  and 
political  welfare  of  the  people  of  the  United  States,"  is  divided 
into  three  books.  The  first  book,  as  the  author  explains,  treats 
of  "infancy,  or  that  period  of  life,  during  which  the  infant 
continues  under  the  sole  care  of  the  mother;"  the  second  treats 
of  youth  and  education ;  the  third,  of  "manhood,  or  the  stage  of 


FIRST  NATIONAL  PERIOD  73 

life  during  which  man  enjoys  his  greatest  strength  of  body  and 
vigor  of  mind,  and  is  most  engaged  in  business."  In  regard 
to  education,  the  author  adopts  the  system  of  Pestalozzi,  which 
teaches  things  in  place  of  words: — 

"  Not  shades,  but  things  he  learns  in  early  youth, 
Much  more  concerned  for  essences  and  truth, 
Than   how  they  should  be   painted   or  expressed, 
Or  in  what  gaudy  equipages  dressed; 
Much  more  inclined  to  show  things  as  they  are, 
With  all  relations  that  they  justly  bear, 
Than  misdeem  wisdom,  nature's  course  arraign, 
And  prove  that  Providence  is  right  in  vain." 

This  long  didactic  poem,  the  verse  and  quality  of  which  may 
be  judged  from  the  preceding  quotation,  was  written,  not  for 
art's  sake  alone,  but  also  for  a  definite  moral  purpose.  "  I  have 
in  this  irregular  little  poem,"  the  author  tells  us,  "endeavored 
to  suggest  some  useful  hints  and  considerations  with  regard  to 
the  moral  and  literary  culture  of  the  juvenile  mind."  It 
describes,  as  indicated  on  the  title  page,  the  various  characters 
in  life,  the  different  passions  with  their  moral  influence,  the 
good  and  evil  resulting  from  their  sway,  and,  in  short,  the  per- 
fect man. 

In  his  preliminary  address  "to  a  generous  public,"  our 
author  criticises  the  critics,  and  incidentally  reveals  a  rare, 
imperturbable  amiability  of  character.  "  Critics,  I  have 
observed,"  he  says,  "  generally  build  themselves  up  at  the  expense 
of  others,  and  live  on  foundations  not  their  own;  they  are  the 
lions;  and  authors,  their  obedient  jackals.  They  deal  out  stric- 
tures liberally  on  all,  and  yet  they  are  sometimes  useful. 

"  The  philological  critic,  who  preys  on  verbiage,  is  very  bene- 
ficial to  the  literary  world,  for  he  sifts  words,  scrutinizes  phrases, 
forms,  and  styles,  and  settles  the  exact  standard  weight  and 
measure  of  language;  but  the  moral  critic  is  yet  more  useful, 


74  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

for  he  anatomizes  the  moral  principles  of  every  writing,  and 
shows  the  good  and  evil  which  would  result  from  their  adoption 
and  exercise. 

"  I  shall  always  be  gratified  to  see  the  good-natured  critic 
bring  his  philosophical  feelings  to  bear  on  this  rude  little  bou- 
quet ;  and  should  ever  the  envious  and  virulent  detractor  attempt 
to  please  his  peculiar  taste,  by  plucking  out  some  offensive 
flower  in  this  rustic  collection,  he  is  at  liberty  to  exert  his  power; 
and  if  he  cannot  rest  satisfied  until  his  gall  and  spleen  be  vented, 
I  shall  rejoice  to  see  him  discharge  his  venom ;  for  I  am  always 
highly  pleased  to  behold  every  man  disburthened  and  happy. 
Such  persons  may  rest  assured  that  when  they  become  cheerful, 
I  shall  be  the  very  last  man  in  the  world  to  disturb  their  tran- 
quillity." 

Our  author  emphasizes  the  salutary  teaching  of  Washington 
and  Jefferson  that  the  permanency  and  prosperity  of  this  great 
nation  depend  on  the  intelligence  and  virtue  of  the  people. 
"  We  live,"  he  says,  "  in  a  country,  whose  rights  and  privileges, 
whose  liberty,  laws,  and  religion,  depend  upon  the  culture  and 
exercise  of  virtue.  It  therefore  becomes  the  duty  of  every  man, 
who  breathes  the  exhilarating  air  of  freedom;  who  lives  in  the 
centre  and  soul  of  our  liberal  institutions ;  and  who  has  secured 
by  them,  his  life,  liberty,  property,  and  enjoyment — it  becomes 
the  sacred  duty  of  every  man,  who  is  protected  by  the  whole,  to 
qualify  himself  to  assist  in  protecting  the  whole.  This  can  be 
done  with  propriety  and  effect  only  by  cultivating  our  virtue, 
upon  which  depends  our  union;  together  with  a  correct  and 
useful  exertion  of  our  physical  energies." 


CHAPTER  VIII 


Writers  of  the  Third  Decade 

Bernard  M.  Carter. — In  1824  there  appeared  in  London  a 
small  volume  of  Poems,  which  were  written,  as  the  title  page 
informs  us,  by  Bernard  M.  Carter,  of  Virginia.  It  is  a  revision 
and  enlargement  of  A  Medley,  a  poem  published  there  the 
preceding  year.  The  volume  in  question  contains  a  medley 
treatment  of  American  statesmen — Washington,  Randolph, 
Hamilton,  Adams,  Lee;  an  elegy  on  the  death  of  "Agnes/' 
which  a  foot-note  tells  us  was  "  the  late  lamented  Miss  Lewis, 
of  Virginia ;"  and  glowing  eulogies  of  Byron  and  Moore.  There 
is  also  a  poem  Pocahontas. 

The  poet  did  not  possess  the  gift  of  lucidity.  It  is  not  always 
easy  to  get  at  his  meaning,  for  his  ideas  are  wrapped  in  fold 
upon  fold  of  obscure  verbiage.  Yet  he  was  not  without  a 
classical  training.  The  following  tribute  to  Lafayette  will  show 
his  style  at  its  best : — 

"  There  too  from  o'er  the  distant  main 

Was  Gallia's  warlike  son, 
To  wear  the  laurels  of  the  plain, 
Where  Freedom  broke  the  tyrant's  chain, 

With  arm  of  Washington! 

And  Pallas  waited  on 
The  young  Euryalus — and  Fame 

Her  Fabian  garland  won." 

Elwcs. — The  title  page  of  The  Potomac  Muse  tells  us  that 
the  volume  was. written  by  "a  lady  of  Virginia."  It  is  copy- 
righted by  A.  W.  Elwes,  whose  name  we  have  placed  in  the 
marginal  title.  It  is  a  book  of  172  pages,  and  was  printed  in 

[75] 


76  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

Eichmond  in  1825.  The  opening  poem  is  Virginia,  which 
naturally  lauds  the  great  sons  of  the  State — Yv'ashington,  Wirt, 
Henry,  Lee,  Jefferson,  and  others — all  in  due  historic  order. 

"  There,  first  of  eloquence  the  spirit  rose, 
There,  genius  still  her  ready  smile  bestows, 
With  every  boon  her  boundless  powers  create 
To  deck  the  mind,  or  soul  to  elevate." 

The  poem  entitled  The  Banks  of  tlie  Potomac  celebrates 
the  charms  of  the  author's  early  home.  It  is  full  of  the  tender 
recollections  that  are  so  apt  to  come  to  us  in  later  years : — 

"  Yet  still  thou  art  smiling,  blest  seat  of  my  childhood, 

Fair  assemblage  of  presents  from  nature's  full  store; 
Thy  waters,  thy  hills,  and  thy  vales,  and  thy  wild  wood, 

And  thy  moss-covered  rocks,  and  thy  bold  waving  shore." 

This  of  course  has  a  suspicious  resemblance  to  Woodworth's 
famous  song;  but  imitation  is  a  weakness  that  is  too  frequently 
observable  in  the  poetry  of  Virginia,  particularly  in  the  days 
before  the  Civil  War. 

The  Potomac  Muse  contains  a  number  of  "Fragments" 
and  some  personal  poems.  The  best  piece  in  the  book  is  perhaps 
The  Sunbeam,  which  is  here  inserted  in  full : — 

"  As  lately  wandering,  all  alone, 
Where  aged  rocks,  with  moss  o'ergrown, 

Frown  o'er  Potomac's  wave, 
The  parting  sun  shone  bright  and   clear. 
And  beaming  on  the  waters  fair, 

A  transient  lustre  gave. 

"With  hasty  footstep  then  I  sought 
To  reach  the  gay  and  sparkling  spot, 
Where  played  the  brilliant  beam; 
As  I  approached  it  quick  withdrew, 
I  followed— still  it  farther  flew, 
Fast  o'er  the  lordly  stream. 


FIRST  NATIONAL  PERIOD  77 

"  Thus  does  the  charmed  enthusiast  view, 
In  smiling  youth,  each  varied  hue, 

With  which  fair  Fancy's  hand 
Full  many  a  rosy  prospect  decks; 
But  vain  the  visionary  seeks 

This  blooming  promised  land." 

Hiram  Haines. — The  author  of  Mountain  Buds  and  Blos- 
soms, Wove  in  a  Rustic  Garland,  was  Hiram  Haines,  editor 
and  proprietor  of  the  American  Constitution,  a  newspaper  pub- 
lished in  Petersburg.  He  was  a  native  of  Culpeper  County; 
and  from  the  two-page  preface  of  the  volume  before  us,  we  learn 
that  he  was  brought  up  to  follow  the  plow,  and  that  his  educa- 
tion did  not  rise  above  that  usually  acquired  in  rural  schools. 
Mountain  Buds  and  Blossoms  was  published  in  early  man- 
hood— "  inexperienced  youth  "  he  calls  it — and  on  this  ground 
he  bases  a  plea  for  friendly  consideration. 

The  critics  of  that  time — the  book  was  printed  in  1825 — 
must  have  been  a  particularly  venomous  set,  of  whom  the  poet 
stood  in  trembling  awe.  In  addressing  them  in  his  introduc- 
tion, Haines  says:  "With  you,  flattery  must  beget  disgust; 
servility,  contempt;  and  I  would  add,  defiance,  from  so  humble 
an  author  as  myself,  would  at  best  excite  your  pity,  most  likely 
your  mirth.  Adopting,  then,  an  intermediate  course,  I  ap- 
proach you  with  all  the  respect  due  your  characters  and  pro- 
fession, and  at  the  same  time  with  that  firm  and  fearless  inde- 
pendence, which  should  ever  characterize  the  actions  of  a  free- 
born  Virginian." 

The  first  poem  of  the  collection  is  called  The  Virginiad. 
It  covers  thirty-seven  pages,  and  as  its  name  implies,  celebrates 
the  beauty  of  scenery  and  heroism  of  character  found  in  the 
Old  Dominion.  The  author  was  intensely  loyal  to  his  native 
State.  "Born  and  reared  in  the  Old  Dominion,"  he  says,  "I 
wish  never  to  go  permanently  beyond  its  boundaries.  Breath- 


78  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA. 

ing  with  delight  its  mild  salubrious  atmosphere,  I  wish  to 
inhale  that  of  no  other  clime.  Treading  on  its  hallowed  soil  in 
life,  let  me  rest  beneath  it  in  death."  This  poem  is  remarkable 
as  Jhe  first  attempt  to  celebrate  adequately  the  glories  of  the 
State. 

The  poem  is  written  in  twelve-line  stanzas,  which  show  more 
than  ordinary  power  of  language  and  description.  It  begins 
with  an  apostrophe  to  Virginia,  and  a  general  description  of 
its  geographic  features: — 

"Virginia,  hail!  thou  loveliest  land  on  earth, 
Land  of  the  great,  of  beauty,  and  rare  worth; 
Each  heart  that  bears  the  impress  of  thy  name, 
Beats  high  to  climb  the  rugged  steeps   of  fame." 

The  various  rivers  of  the  eastern  part  of  the  State — the  Poto- 
mac, York,  James,  Elizabeth — each  fills  one  or  more  stanzas. 
The  towns  and  cities — Richmond,  "by  nature  blessed  as  'tis 
adorned  by  art;"  Norfolk,  "varied  in  form  but  sweet  the  face 
she  wears;"  Williamsburg — 

"Here  fashion  dwelt  and  highly  polished  ease, 
Unrivaled  breeding,  practised  but  to  please;" 

and  "fair  Petersburg" — 

"Whose  hand   is   opened  and   whose  bosom   glows, 
To  give  relief  and  calm  the  sufferer's  woes  " — 

are  all  worthily  and  impartially  celebrated. 

The  Appomattox  suggests  the  heroic  and  pathetic  story  of — 

"  Fair  Pocahontas,  of  exalted  mind, 
And  race  as  noble  as  her  heart  was  kind." 

Perhaps  the  best  part  of  The  Virginiad  is  the  Indian 
maiden's  love-song,  which  she  tenderly  sighed  to  the  moon: — 


FIRST  NATIONAL  PERIOD  79 


"  I  love  thee,  sweet  orb,  in  thy  beauty  now  beaming, 

Mild  emblem  of  peace,  and  queen  of  the  night; 
Upon  my  warm  bosom  thy  calm  looks  are  gleaming, 

But  ah!  they  view  not  my  bosom's  delight: 
Oh!  not  like  thy  course  is  its  love  ever  ranging; 

As  vestal's  fire  pure,  so  burns  its  first  flame; 
Nor  yet  as  thy  face,  will  it  ever  be  changing, 

A  hundred  new  moons  shall  find  it  the  same. 

"  I  love  the  white  warrior  from,  over  the  water, 

He's  brave  in  the  fight  and  kind  to  his  foe; 
And  the  heart  that  is  these  will  slight  not  the  daughter 

Of  the  red  chieftain  who  bears  the  strong  bow; 
The  necklace  he  gave  me  is  the  color  of  heaven, 

Our  priests  oft  tell  us  that  all  there  is  love; 
And  sure  'tis  not  wrong,  when  the  power  is  given, 

That  earth  should  be  like  the  regions  above. 

"  I'll  weave  for  my  love  a  gay  wampum  belt  shining 

With  bright  coral  shells,  so  lovely  and  fair; 
And  I'll  bind  him  a  crest  together  entwining 

The  pelican's  plumage  with  my  waving  hair. 
Oh!  then  to  him  quick  I  smiling  will  bear  them, 

On  his  brow  and  arms  my  hands  shall  them  braid; 
That  when  he's  away  the  fair  warrior  may  wear  them, 

And  look  and  remember  his  dark  Indian  maid." 

Among  the  heroic  names — 

"  Which  freed  a  nation  that  should  awe  the  world  " — 

the  poem  celebrates  Henry,  Jefferson,  Madison,  Monroe,  Kan- 
dolph,  and  others,  who  are  portrayed  with  fine  discrimination. 
In  the  score  or  more  of  lyrics  that  make  up  the  rest  of  the 
volume  we  find  a  poetic  talent  worthy  of  admiration.  The 
author's  poetic  skill,  which  had  been  f  ormed^  in  the  school  of 
Campbell  and  Burns,  rarely  fails  in  measure,  diction,  or  rhyme ; 
and  if  space  permitted,  many  passages  worth  reading  might  be 


80  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

introduced   from   Things   I  Love,   Things  I  Hate,   Our  Last 
Earthly  Comforts,  and  similar  homely  themes. 

John  Robertson. — John  Eobertson  was  born  near  Richmond 
in  1787.  He  was  educated  at  William  and  Mary  College,  and 
afterwards  achieved  distinction  as  a  lawyer  and  statesman.  He 
filled  for  a  time  the  office  of  Attorney-general  of  Virginia,  and 
served  several  terms  (1833-1839)  in  Congress.  He  died  in 
Campbell  County,  Va.,  in  1873,  at  a  very  advanced  age. 

He  found  relaxation  from  the  duties  of  a  busy  life  in  poetical 
composition,  and  published  three  books  at  intervals  of  about 
twenty-five  years.  The  first  was  a  metrical  romance  entitled 
Virginia,  or  the  Fatal  Patent.  It  appeared  in  Washington 
in  1825.  The  fatal  patent  referred  to  is  that  of  James  I.  to  the 
London  Company ;  for  it  meant  ultimately  the  severance  of  this 
land  from  the  British  crown — a  severance  that  was  to  take  place 
only  after  bitterness  and  bloodshed.  The  hero  of  the  romance 
is  Captain  John  Suiilli;  and  of  course  the  noble-minded  Poca- 
hontas,  who  has  so  often  appealed  to  the  poetic  imagination  of 
Virginians,,  is  brought  upon  the  scene.  When  the  hero  is  bound 
a  captive  and  depressed  in  spirit,  she  sings  to  him,  "  soft,  and 
sweet,  and  low,"  the  following  words : — 

"Hapless  stranger,  cease  complaining, 
Though  thy  bed  be  hard  and  cold; 
Hours  of  bliss  are  still  remaining, 
Days  of  joy  thou  shalt  behold. 
Fortune's  wheel  is  ever  turning, 
Think'st  thou  it  will  stop  with  thee? 
Know  thou  art  but  lessons  learning 
Of  its  mutability. 

"  When  the  beam  of  joy  Is  sparkling, 
Remember  still  the  wheel  goes  on; 
Prospects  blooming — shadows  darkling, 
Now  beds  of  down,  now  beds  of  stone: 


MARGARET  JUNKIN   PRESTON 


FIRST  NATIONAL  PERIOD  81 

This  is  but  a  mortal's  measure, 
Droop  not,  yield  not  to  despair; 
Who  has  drained  the  cup  of  pleasure, 
But  must  drain  the  cup  of  care?  " 

These  stanzas,  it  will  be  recognized,  contain  an  echo  of  Scott. 
But  the  body  of  the  poem  is  written  in  the  difficult  Spenserian 
measure,  which  is  handled  with  considerable  skill.  For  example, 
the  colonists  that  accompanied  Smith  are  thus  described : — 

"  'Twas  piteous  to  behold  this  motley  band, 
'Twas  piteous,  and  in  truth  was  curious  too, 
Where  all,  as  oft  we  read  of  fairy  land, 
Their  baffled  hopes,  and  ruined  schemes  renew, 
And  oft  defeated,  still  the  race  pursue; 
The  state,  the  climate  changed — unchanged  the  mind; 
Still  to  their  former  passions  they  are  true; 
Still  round  their  hearts  the  same  false  pleasures  wind, 
And  they  are  all  themselves — no  folly  left  behind." 

The  theme  attempted  in  Eiego,  or  the  Spanish  Martyr — 
a  regular  five-act  tragedy — is  the  Eevolution  in  Spain  in  1820, 
of  which  the  most  striking  incidents  and  prominent  actors  are 
presented.  The  author  "will  not  say  that  he  has  followed 
history,  in  every  particular,  with  scrupulous  exactness.  But  the 
principal  scenes  and  traits  of  character — the  various  fortunes 
of  the  Revolutionary  contest — the  stormy  debates  in  the  cortes — 
the  artful  villainy  of  Saez — the  treachery  of  Abisbal,  Ballasteros, 
and  Morillo — the  falsehood,  cruelty,  and  pusillanimity  of  Ferdi- 
nand VII. — the  energy  and  persevering  constancy  of  Mina — the 
patriotic  devotion  and  execrable  assassination  of  the  great  chief 
of  the  Revolution — and  the  tenderness  and  distress  of  his 
wife — will  be  found  sufficiently  sustained  by  authentic  narra- 
tives, or  contemporary  opinion."  A  few  lines  must  suffice  to 
show  the  strain  in  which  the  tragedy  is  written.  Mina  speaks 
over  the  murdered  body  of  Riego : — 
P.  of  Va.— 6 


S2  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 


"  Self-doomed, 

Thy  murderer  tosses  on  his  downy  couch, 
While  at  his  blood-stained  hand  thy  soul  receives 
Heaven's  passport  to  its  sunbright  realms.    What  tho' 
No  sculptured  stone  record  thy  praise?    When  Ferdinand's 
Dismantled  tomb  shall  be  a  crumbling  ruin, 
The  just,  the  brave,  shall  moisten  with  tearful  eye 
The  everliving  turf  that  marks  Riego's  grave." 

The  Opuscula,  which  was  published  in  1871,  is  partly  prose 
and  partly  verse,  and  calls  for  no  further  consideration.  It  is 
evident  from  the  foregoing  review  that  Judge  Eobertson  was  a 
man  of  varied  literary  gifts  and  attainments. 

Mrs.  Littleford.— Mrs.  Littleford's  volume,  The  Wreath;  or, 
Verses  on  Various  Subjects,  which  the  title  page  tells  us  was 
written  by  "a  lady  of  Kichmond,"  was  published  by  subscrip- 
tion in  1828.  In  the  back  part  of  the  book  is  a  list  of  the  sub- 
scribers, who,  many  of  them  well  known  in  Virginia  history, 
had  too  much  old-time  chivalry  to  refuse  a  lady  the  favor  of 
buying  from  one  to  live  copies  of  her  poems.  John  Marshall 
read  an  early  copy;  and  we  wonder  whether  there  was  any  con- 
scious conflict  between  his  sterling  integrity  and  his  chivalrous 
courtesy  as  he  wrote  of  the  poems:  "The  pensive  air  which 
characterizes  them,  and  the  strain  of  just  and  pure  sentiment 
with  which  they  are  animated,  cannot  fail  to  inspire  the  wish 
that  the  author  may  receive  the  encouragement  which  ought 
to  reward  virtue  and  genius/' 

In  the  preface  we  read  that  "the  writer  submits,  with  feel- 
ings of  extreme  diffidence,  these  effusions,  hastily  written,  in 
situations  the  most  unfavorable  to  literary  exertion,  roughly 
stamped  with  the  impress  of  the  moment — thrown  aside,  and 
neither  retouched  nor  polished."  In  making  these  statements 
a  plea  for  indulgence  on  the  part  of  her  readers,  the  author, 


FIRST  NATIONAL  PERIOD  83 

like  so  many  others  of  her  day,  seems  unconscious  of  the  fact 
that  the  publication  of  hasty,  unpolished  verse  is  both  a  disre- 
spect to  the  public  and  an  offence  against  art.  It  is  due  to 
both  that  the  poet  do  his  best. 

But  it  should  not  be  inferred  that  the  writer  of  The  Wreath 
is  to  be  taken  exactly  at  her  word.  Something  must  be  allowed 
to  modest  self-depreciation.  Her  poems  are  neither  so  hasty 
nor  so  unpolished  as  she  pretends;  in  fact,  their  commonplace 
thought  and  commonplace  manner  almost  reach  the  point  of 
excellence.  Her  rhymes  may  leave  something  to  be  desired, 
but  still  she  can  grasp  and  work  out  a  poetic  conception,  as  in 
her  stanzas  On  Duty : — 

"  O!  awful  Duty,  at  thy  shrine, 
Low  let  thy  victim  bow, 
Differing  thy  wreaths  from  those  which  bind 
The  happy  lover's  brow. 

"The  chaplet  his  of  myrtle  twined, 

Which  roses  gay  adorn; 
The  briar  is  sharp,  but  who  would  mind 
The  puncture  of  a  thorn? 

"But  thine  the  honored  civic  crown, 

Of  lasting  foliage  made; 
Deep  scars,  dark  cares  and  woes  are  found 
To  dwell  beneath  its  shade." 


CHAPTER  IX 
Poets  from  1830  to  1840 

T.  J.  Lees. — The  Musings  of  Carol,  containing  an  Essay  on 
Liberty;  The  Desperado,  a  Tale  of  the  Ocean,  and  Other  Orig- 
inal Poems  was  published  in  Wheeling  in  1831.  The  volume 
is  far  more  interesting  and  important  than  its  insignificant 
appearance  would  indicate.  It  is  the  first  poetical  work  from 
the  extreme  western  part  of  the  State.  The  author,  as  he  in- 
forms us  in  the  preface,  "makes  no  pretensions  to  classical 
learning."  He  claims  to  be  "merely  a  common  man";  but  it 
does  not  take  a  long  examination  of  the  work  before  us  to  dis- 
cover that  he  has  read  widely  and  thought  to  some  purpose. 
He  writes,  not  so  much  for  the  foolish  pride  of  rhyming,  as  for 
the  expression  of  his  thoughts  on  life  and  existing  social  con- 
ditions. 

As  already  intimated  in  a  previous  chapter,  before  the  Civil 
War  there  existed  in  the  western  part  of  Virginia  a  wide-spread 
feeling  of  dissatisfaction.  Many  in  that  part  of  the  State  were 
not  in  sympathy  with  what  they  regarded  as  the  aristocratic 
tendencies  east  of  the  Alleghanies,  and  they  felt,  moreover,  that 
they  did  not  have  a  fair  share  in  the  state  government,  or  get 
a  due  proportion  of  the  public  improvements.  The  Musings 
of  Carol  reflect  this  sentiment  in  an  emphatic  way,  and  utter 
prophecies  that  have  since  been  fulfilled. 

The  Essay  on  Liberty  is  the  most  considerable  poem  in  the 
book.  As  the  author  states,  it  "was  written  with  a  view  of 
reviving  the  spirit  of  republican  simplicity,  which  is  evidently 
on  the  decline  in  this  country;  and  through  a  desire  of  con- 
tributing something  towards  the  improvement  of  that  liberty 
for  which  our  patriotic  ancestors  were  willing  to  stake  their 

[84] 


FIRST  NATIONAL  PERIOD  85 

lives,  their  fortunes,  and  their  sacred  honor.  I  love  my  country 
as  ardently  as  any  man  living;  and  while  I  rejoice  in  her  pros- 
perity, I  am  but  too  well  convinced  that  the  spirit  of  speculation 
and  monopoly,  the  rapid  progress  of  European  pride  and  ex- 
travagance, the  existence  of  slavery^  a  thirst  for  office,  and  the 
want  of  a  system  of  general  education,  are  the  most  effectual 
means  that  could  be  adopted  for  putting  an  end  to  American 
liberty.  Under  these  impressions  I  feel  it  my,  duty  to  solicit 
the  public  attention  to  the  subject  in  order  that  the  people, 
while  yet  they  retain  the  power,  may  avert  their  fate  by  the 
application  of  a  timely  remedy;  for  which  reason  the  poem  is 
addressed  more  to  the  understanding  than  to  the  imagination, 
and  is  written  in  a  style  less  ornamental  than  it  might  other- 
wise have  been/' 

It  is  worth  while  to  see  how  he  treats  the  themes  bearing  on 
the  social  conditions  he  perceives  to  exist  about  him.  The  poem 
is  divided  into  two  parts,  of  which  the  first  is  devoted  to  a 
"eulogium  on  the  land  of  Columbus,  considered  as  the  Para- 
dise of  modern  liberty."  Part  second  is  a  practical  and  pas- 
sionate outcry,  the  warning  notes  of  which  the  State  might 
have  done  well  to  heed. 

In  1829  a  constitutional  convention  met  in  Eichmond  for 
the  purpose  of  'framing  a  new  and  more  liberal  constitution. 
It  extended  the  right  of  suffrage;  but  in  giving  a  large  pre- 
ponderance to  legislative  representation  from  the  Piedmont  and 
Tidewater  regions,  it  failed  to  meet  the  wishes  of  the  delegates 
from  the  western  part  of  the  State.  "  They  were  outvoted," 
the  author  says  in  a  note,  "by  the  slaveholders  of  the  East." 
The  convention  and  its  results  are  discussed  in  the  poem: — 

"  Of  rank  injustice  did  the  poor  complain, 
Sued  for  their  blood-bought  rights,  but  all  in  vain; 
The  haughty  lordlings  sate  with  swollen  pride, 
And  heard  our  grievance,  but  redress  denied: 


£6  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

From  burning  bosom  black  oppression  flung 

Envenomed  serpents,  armed  with  human  tongue; 

Who,  in  the  face  of  heaven,  contemptuously 

Sneered  at  the  sacred  name  of  liberty. 
'  We  grant  you  Peasantry,'  replied  the  knaves, 
'  All  the  high  privilege  of  faithful  slaves; 

Go  to  your  task — 'tis  ours  to  legislate, 

And  wield  the  awful  destinies  of  state; 

Yours  to  obey,  whatever  laws  we  deem 

Most  fit — for  equal  rights  are  but  a  dream!  ' " 

The  author  was  well  acquainted  with  the  natural  resources  of 
the  western  part  of  the  State,  observed  its  rapid  development, 
and  rejoiced  in  its  grander  future.  Along  the  teeming  shores, — 

"  Where  proud  Ohio  rolls  his  beauteous  flood  " — 

a  vigorous  population  was  increasing,  and  towns  and  cities  were 
rapidly  springing  up.     There — 

"  No  more  upon  the  night  winds  wildly  swell 
The  war's  rude  clamor,  and  the  battle's  yell; 
No  more  the  mighty  Indian  wields  in  strife 
The  deadly  tomahawk  and  scalping  knife; 
But  gentle  peace  and  cheerfulness  pervade 
The  bustling  city  and  the  rural  shade: 
Here  commerce  pours  the  wealth  of  other  lands; 
Art  sallies  forth  with  strong  and  dextrous  hands, 
Fells  the  tall  forest,  bids  each  mansion  rise 
With  taste  and  grandeur,  destined  to  surprise 
The  eastern  traveler,  who  vainly  dreams 
Of  wretched  wigwams,  and  savage  screams." 

On  this  passage,  only  a  part  of  which  is  given,  the  poet  has  the 
following  explanatory  note :  "  That  part  of  Virginia  which 
borders  on  the  Ohio,  is  rapidly  improving  in  wealth  and  popula- 
tion; its  inhabitants  have  long  been  dissatisfied  with  the  selfish 
policy,  and  the  usurpations  of  the  Eastern  slaveholders,  whose 


FIRST  NATIONAL  PERIOD  87 

influence  in  the  legislative  body  has  ever  been  exerted  in  the 
perpetuation  of  an  oppressive  aristocracy.  The  people  are  very 
different  from  those  of  the  eastern  part  of  the  State.  Industry 
is  much  more  encouraged  and  respected;  slavery  is  unpopular, 
and  the  few  who  hold  slaves  generally  treat  them  well.  The 
time  is  not  far  distant  when  Western  Virginia  will  either 
liberalize  the  present  state  government  or  separate  itself  entirely 
from  the  Old  Dominion/' 

The  poet  laments,  in  passionate  words,  the  pride  of  wealth 
and  the  spread  of  plutocratic  power.  "What  would  he  say  to- 
day?— 

"  Tis  fortune  gives  the  legal  power  to  reign; 
The  blood  of  patriots  has  been  shed  in  vain; 
She  speaks  the  word,  and  at  her  potent  call, 
Her  favorites  rise  to  fill  the  senate  hall; 
The  fleet  and  army  feel  her  magic  powers, 
The  sailor  doffs  his  hat,  the  soldier  cowers; 
The  laborer  bending  o'er  his  daily  toil, 
Scorned  by  the  haughty  lordlings  of  the  soil, 
His  humble  worth  and  usefulness  unprized, 
Is,  like  the  slave,  degraded  and  despised." 

The  Musings  of  Carol  end  with  a  poem  of  fifty-five  Spen- 
serian stanzas,  the  purpose  of  which  was  "merely  an  attempt 
to  satirize  the  multifarious  vices,  follies,  whims,  and  inconsis- 
tencies of  mankind."  The  poem  shows  the  influence  of  Byron; 
but  only  a  shrewd  and  independent  observer  of  men  could  have 
written  the  following  lines: — 

"  All  have  their  foibles,  and  the  best,  'tis  sure, 
Are  not  much  better  than  their  meanest  neighbors; 
Though  they  would  tell  us  they  are  wondrous  pure — 
Their  deeds  of  bigotry  all  pious  labors; 
Some  stand  as  chosen  guards,  with  lifted  sabres, 
To  cleave  poor  sinners  down  at  heaven's  door; 
Such  hatred  do  they  bear  to  all  that's  evil, 
They  freely  give  mankind  as  fuel  to  the  Devil," 


88  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

Our  author  was  opposed  to  slavery,  and  has  one  poem  on  the 
subject  equal  in  vigor  to  the  most  passionate  utterances  of  Whit- 
tier.  But  only  one  more  extract  can  be  given  and  that  is  taken 
from  a  short  poem  called  The  Wish.  It  embodies  our  poet's 
ideal  of  a  worthy  and  happy  life : — 

"  But  heaven  grant  me  health,  a  virtuous  mind; 

Stern  independence,  not  to  be  subdued, 
And  competence,  the  wish  of  all  mankind, 

The  choice  of  social  life  or  solitude, 
As  best  may  suit  the  gay  or  gloomy  mood, 
A  spirit  free,  that  men  may  never  bind 
With  bigots'  chains,  that  half  the  world  enslave; 
A  conscience  clear,  a  Hope  that  shrinks  not  from  the  grave." 

The  author's  criticism  upon  his  book  is  not  entirely  unjust. 
"  In  the  first  place,"  he  says,  "  it  will  be  found  rather  deficient 
in  pearls,  rubies,  diamonds,  posies,  fairies,  witches,  ghosts, 
cupids,  forget-me-nots,  true  lover's  knots,,  sweet  kisses,  melting 
kisses,  burning  kisses,  etc.  Secondly,  there  will  not  be  any 
extraordinary  flights  of  fancy,  for  the  sad  realities  of  life  have 
already  clipped  the  wings  of  imagination;  it  will  not,  however, 
be  destitute  of  originality,  which  is  considered  a  scarce  article 
among  modern  poets.  But  the  most  I  can  say  in  its  favor  is, 
that  the  anti-fastidious  reader  with  good  spectacles,  hard  scratch- 
ing, and  more  than  mortal  patience,  may  find  here  and  there, 
amongst  a  bushel  of  chaff,  a  grain  or  two  of  common  sense." 
Of  this  last,  it  may  be  added,  there  is  a  great  deal  more  than  the 
self-depreciating  poet  lays  claim  to. 

Edgar  Allan  Poe. — Poe  stands  almost  alone  among  the  poets 
of  Virginia.  He  belongs  to  the  nation  rather  than  to  the  State. 
To  this  proud  position  he  is  raised  alike  by  his  intellectual 
brilliancy,  the  number  and  excellence  of  his  works,  and  the 
varied  scenes  of  his  literary  labors.  Whether  poetry,  criticism, 


FIRST  NATIONAL  PERIOD  89 

or  fiction,,  he  shows  extraordinary  power  in  them  all—one  of  the 
few  original,  creative  writers  in  the  annals  of  American  litera- 
ture; But  the  moral  element  in  life  is  the  most  important,  and 
in  this  Poe  was  lacking.  With  him,  truth  was  not  the  first 
necessity.  He  allowed  his  judgment  to  be  warped  by  friend- 
ship, and  apparently  sacrificed  sincerity  to  the  vulgar  desire  of 
gaining  popular  applause. 

It  would  extend  this  sketch  too  far  to  follow  Poe  throughout 
his  tragical  career.1  Left  an  orphan  by  the  death  of  his  parents 
in  Richmond,  he  was  received  into  the  home  of  Mr.  John  Allan, 
a  wealthy  merchant  of  the  city.  After  receiving  a  preparatory 
training  in  England  and  in  a  Richmond  academy,  he  matric- 
ulated in  1826  at  the  University  of  Virginia.  Though  he 
attended  his  classes  with  a  fair  degree  of  regularity,  he  seems 
to  have  fallen  into  habits  of  reckless  extravagance.  At  the 
end  of  his  first  session,  Mr.  Allan  placed  Poe  in  his  own  count- 
ing-room; but  the  restless  and  wayward  young  man  found  the 
routine  of  business  intolerably  irksome.  With  high  notions  of 
his  own  ability,  he  started  out  to  seek  his  fortune;  but  he  was 
soon  'reduced  to  financial  straits,  and  in  his  pressing  need  he 
enlisted,  under  an  assumed  name,  in  the  United  States  army. 

After  a  year  or  two,  through  the  influence  of  Mr.  Allan, 
young  Poe  secured  a  discharge  from  the  army,  and  obtained  an 
appointment  as  cadet  at  West  Point.  He  entered  the  military 
academy  in  1830,  and,  as  usual,  established  a  reputation  for 
brilliancy  and  folly.  He  was  a  devourer  of  books,  but  showed 
a  contemptuous  neglect  of  his  military  duties.  The  final  result 
may  be  easily  anticipated:  at  the  end  of  six  months,  he  was 
summoned  before  a  court  martial,  tried,  and  expelled. 

This  brings  us  to  the  beginning  of  his  literary  career.     Before 

aThe  author  has  devoted  an  entire  chapter  to  Poe  in  his  Poets 
of  the  South. 


90  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

leaving  West  Point,  lie  arranged  for  the  publication  of  a  volume 
of  poetry,  which  appeared  in  New  York  in  1831.  This  volume, 
to  which  the  students  of  the  academy  subscribed  liberally  in 
advance,  is  noteworthy  in  several  particulars.  In  a  prefatory 
letter  Poe  lays  down  the  poetic  principle  to  which  he  endeavored 
to  conform  his  productions.  It  throws  much  light  on  his  poetry 
by  exhibiting  the  ideal  at  which  he  aimed.  "  A  poem,  in  my 
opinion,"  he  says,  "  is  opposed  to  a  work  of  science  by  having 
for  its  immediate  object  pleasure,  not  truth;  to  romance,  by 
having  for  its  object  an  indefinite  instead  of  a  definite  pleasure, 
being  a  poem  only  as  far  as  this  object  is  attained;  romance 
presenting  perceptible  images,  poetry  with  indefinite  sensations, 
to  which  end  music  is  an  essential,  since  the  comprehension  of 
sweet  sound  is  our  most  indefinite  conception.  Music,  when 
combined  with  a  pleasurable  idea,  is  poetry;  music  without  the 
idea  is  simply  music;  the  idea  without  the  music  is  prose  from 
its  very  definiteness."  Musical  verse  embowered  in  a  golden 
mist  of  thought  and  sentiment — this  is  Poe's  poetical  ideal. 

As  illustrative  of  his  musical  rhythm,  the  following  lines  from 
Al  Aaraaf  may  be  given : — 

"  Ligeia!     Ligeia! 

My  beautiful  one! 
Whose  harshest  idea 

Will  to  melody  run, 
O!  is  it  thy  will 

On  the  breezes  to  toss? 
Or,  capriciously  still, 

Like  the  lone  Albatross, 
Incumbent  on  night 

(As  she  on  the  air) 
To   keep   watch   with   delight 

On  the  harmony  there?" 

After  a  year  or  more  of  hack  work  in  Baltimore,  where  he 
won  a  hundred  dollar  prize  with  his  tale  A  Ms.  Found  in  a. 


FIRST  NATIONAL  PERIOD  91 

Bottle,  Poe  obtained  employment  on  the  Southern  Literary 
Messenger,  and  removed  to  Eichmond  in  1835.  Here  he  made 
a  brilliant  start ;  life  seemed  to  open  before  him  full  of  promise. 
In  a  short  time  he  was  promoted  to  the  editorship  of  the  Mes- 
senger, and  by  his  tales,  poems,  and  especially  his  reviews,  he 
made  that  magazine  very  popular.  In  a  twelve-month  he  in- 
creased its  subscription  list  fron  seven  hundred  to  nearly  five 
thousand,  and  made  the  magazine  a  rival  of  the  Knickerbocker 
and  the  New  Englander.  He  was  loudly  praised  by  the  South- 
ern press,  and  was  generally  regarded  as  one  of  the  foremost 
writers  of  the  day. 

In  the  Messenger  Poe  began  his  work  as  a  critic.  His 
criticism  was  of  the  slashing  kind,  and  he  soon  became  little 
short  of  a  terror.  With  a  great  deal  of  critical  acumen  and  a 
fine  artistic  sense,  he  made  relentless  war  on  pretentious  medioc- 
rity, and  rendered  good  service  to  American  letters  by  enforcing 
higher  literary  standards.  He  was  lavish  in  his  charges  of 
plagiarism;  and  he  made  use  of  cheap,  second-hand  learning  in 
order  to  ridicule  the  pretended  scholarship  of  others.  He  often 
affected  an  irritating  and  contemptuous  superiority.  But  with 
all  his  humbug  and  superciliousness,  his  critical  estimates,  in 
the  main,  have  been  sustained. 

After  eighteen  months  in  Eichmond,  during  which  he  estab- 
lished a  brilliant  literary  reputation,  Poe  was  again  turned 
adrift.  He  went  North,  and  became  editor  first  of  the  Gentle- 
man's Magazine,  and  afterwards  of  Graham's  Magazine.  At 
no  other  period  of  his  life  did  his  genius  appear  to  better  advan- 
tage. Thrilling  stories  and  trenchant  criticisms  followed  one 
another  in  rapid  succession.  Among  the  prose  masterpieces  of 
this  period  may  be  mentioned  The  Fall  of  the  House  of  Usher, 
Ligeia,  which  he  regarded  as  his  best  tale,  The  Descent 
into  the  Maelstrom,  The  Murders  in  the  Rue  Morgue,  and 
The  Mystery  of  Marie  Roget.  The  general  character  of  his 


92  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

tales  may  be  inferred  from  their  titles.  Poe  delighted  in  the 
weird,  fantastic,  dismal,  horrible.  There  is  no  warmth  of  hu- 
man sympathy,  no  moral  consciousness,  no  lessons  of  practical 
wisdom.  His  tales  are  the  product  of  a  morbid  but  powerful 
imagination.  His  style  is  in  perfect  keeping  with  his  peculiar 
gifts.  He  had  a  highly  developed  artistic  sense.  By  his 
air  of  perfect  candor,  his  minuteness  of  detail,  and  his  power 
of  graphic  description,  he  gains  complete  mastery  over  the  soul, 
and  leads  us  to  believe  the  impossible.  Within  the  limited  range 
of  his  imagination  (for  he  was  by  no  means  the  universal  genius 
he  fancied  himself  to  be),  he  is  unsurpassed,  perhaps,  by  any 
other  American  writer. 

In  1845  Poe  published  a  tolerably  complete  edition  of  his 
poems  in  the  revised  form  in  which  they  now  appear  in  his 
works.  The  volume  contained  nearly  all  the  poems  upon  which 
his  poetic  fame  justly  rests.  Among  those  that  may  be  regarded 
as  embodying  his  highest  poetic  achievement  are  The  Raven, 
Lenore,  Ulalume,  The  Bells,  Annabel  Lee,  The  Haunted  Palace, 
The  Conqueror  Worm,  The  City  in  the  Sea,  Eulalie,  and 
Israfel.  Earely  has  so  large  a  fame  rested  on  so  small  a  number 
of  poems,  and  rested  so  securely.  His  range  of  themes,  it  will  be 
noticed,  is  very  narrow.  As  in  his  tales,  he  dwells  in  a  weird, 
fantastic,  or  desolate  region — usually  under  the  shadow  of  death. 
He  conjures  up  unearthly  landscapes  as  a  setting  for  his  gloomy 
and  morbid  fancies.  In  The  City  in  the  Sea,  for  example, — 

"  There  shrines,  and  palaces,  and  towers 
(Time-eaten  towers  that  tremble  not!) 
Resemble  nothing  that  is  ours. 
Around  by  lifting  winds  forgot, 
Resignedly  beneath  the  sky 
The  melancholy  waters  lie." 

In  his  poems,  as  in  his  tales,  Poe  was  less  anxious  to  set  forth 
an  experience  or  a  truth  than  to  make  an  impression.  His 


FIRST  NATIONAL  PERIOD  93 

poetry  aims  at  beauty  in  a  purely  artistic  sense,  unassociated 
with  truth  or  morals.  It  is,  for  the  most  part,  singularly  vague, 
unsubstantial,  and  melodious.  Some  of  his  poems — and  pre- 
cisely those  in  which  his  genius  finds  its  highest  expression — • 
defy  complete  analysis.  Ulalume,  for  instance,  remains  ob- 
scure after  the  twentieth  perusal — its  meaning  lost  in  a  haze 
of  mist  and  music.  Yet  these  poems,  when  read  in  a  sympa- 
thetic mood,  never  fail  of  their  effect.  They  are  genuine  crea- 
tions; and,  as  a  fitting  expression  of  certain  mental  states,  they 
possess  an  indescribable  charm,,  something  like  the  spell  of  the 
finest  instrumental  music.  There  is  no  mistaking  Poe's  poetic 
genius.  Though  not  the  greatest,  he  is  still  the  most  original  of 
our  American  poets,  and  has  fairly  earned  the  high  esteem  in 
which  his  gifts  are  held  at  home  and  abroad. 

By  way  of  illustration  we  give  the  brief,  exquisite  poem 
entitled  To  Helen.  It  was  inspired,  as  the  poet  tells  us,  by 
the  memory  of  "the  one  idolatrous  and  purely  ideal  love"  of 
his  restless  youth : — 

"  Helen,  thy  beauty  is  to  me 

Like  those  Nicsean  barks  of  yore, 
That  gently,  o'er  a  perfumed  sea, 

The  weary,  wayworn  wanderer  bore 
To  his  own  native  shore. 

"  On  desperate  seas  long  wont  to  roam, 

Thy  hyacinth  hair,  thy  classic  face, 
Thy  Naiad  airs,  have  brought  me  home 
To  the  glory  that  was  Greece, 
And  the  grandeur  that  was  Rome. 

"  Lo!  in  yon  brilliant  window-niche 

How  statue-like  I  see  thee  stand, 
The  agate  lamp  within  thy  hand! 

Ah,  Psyche,  from  the  regions  which 
Are  Holy  Land!" 


94  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

^Frederick  Speece. — Frederick  Speece  was  a  native  of  Camp- 
bell County,  Va.  His  unpretentious  volume,  My  Native  Land, 
and  Other  Poems,  published  in  1832,  is  a  work  of  commendable 
excellence.  The  author  formed  his  art  on  the  best  poetry  of  the 
eighteenth  century.  Goldsmith  and  Cowper  seem  to  have  been 
his  models;  yet  it  is  rare  that  there  is  servile  imitation.  Mr. 
Speece  had  eyes  to  observe,  and  force  enough  to  describe  what 
he  saw.  His  volume  is  altogether  a  credit  to  Virginia  letters, 
and  deserved  a  wider  circulation  than  it  in  all  probability  had. 
There  seem  to  be  very  few  copies  in  existence. 

In  the  first  volume  of  the  Southern  Literary  Messenger  we 
find  a  review  of  the  volume  in  question.  "  We  do  not  hesitate/' 
says  the  editor  "to  recommend  this  work  as  incomparably 
superior  to  much  of  that  glittering  trash  which  passes  under  the 
name  of  poetry.  There  is  a  vein  of  good  sense,  of  just  and 
honest  feeling,  of  tender  melancholy,  and  sometimes  of  rich 
imagination,  which  runs  through  this  volume,  and  which  can- 
not fail  to  delight  such  readers  as  have  any  soul  for  poetical 
composition.  His  versification  for  the  most  part  is  sweet  and 
melodious." 

Dates  are  affixed  to  most  of  the  poems,  which  were  written 
between  the  years  1810  and  1831.  There  are  a  few  lyrical  poems 
of  no  great  excellence,  but  the  greater  part  of  the  book  is  made 
up  of  satirical  and  didactic  verse.  The  title  piece,  My  Native 
Land,  is  an  autobiographic  and  descriptive  account  of  Camp- 
bell County,  which,  upon  the  return  of  the  author  after  a  long 
absence,  awakens  many  fond  memories.  He  seems  to  have  had 
in  youth  the  sensitiveness  and  eccentricity  sometimes  belonging 
to  a  poetic  temperament: — 

"A  fretful  infant,  and  a  wayward  boy, 
In  me  my  friends  found  much  for  grief  and  Joy; 
Grief,  not  for  crimes  or  stubbornness  of  soul, 
But  whims  and  fancies  they  could  not  control; 


FIRST  NATIONAL  PERIOD  95 

A  thoughtful,  melancholy  turn  of  mind, 

To  mirth,  and  light  amusement  disinclined. 

They  blamed  me  much  for  being  dull  and  shy, 

And  when  I  laughed  or  wept,  they  scarce  knew  why." 

He  was  a  bookish  lad,  and  fond  of  nature.  Hence,  when 
country  parties  convened  for  frolic,  he  says, — 

"  Some  favorite  volume,  or  capricious  mood 
Detained  me  in  the  shades  of  solitude, 
Far  from  the  merry  group  and  mazy  dance, 
To  watch  the  genial  season's  coy  advance, 
Where   whispering  zephyrs  wafted   rich   perfume, 
And  breathed  the  timid  roses  into  bloom." 

The  Peaks  of  Otter,  which  have  several  times  found  place  in 
Virginia  poetry,  were  visible  from  our  author's  home,  and  in 
their  sunset  glory  made  a  deep  impression  on  his  youthful  mind. 
The  following  extract  will  show  his  power  in  elevated  and 
graphic  description: — 

"  In  softened  radiance  to  the  blushing  west 
The  sun  descending  sought  his  wonted  rest, 
And  drew  in  pomp  around  his  flaming  bed 
His  cloudy  curtains,  tinged  with  rosy  red, 
And  I,  forgetful  of  approaching  night, 
Watched  the  long  lingering  beams  of  parting  light, 
Where  the  twin  Peaks  like  hoary  giants  rise 
In  frowning  grandeur  midway  to  the  skies. 
While  twilight  deepened  on  the  plains  below, 
Their  towering  heights  detained  the  yellow  glow, 
Till  slowly  fading  from  my  distant  view, 
Their  rocky  summits  slept  in  pensive  blue." 

Juvenalis  Redivivus,  which  was  written  in  1814,  is  a  severe 
stricture,  in  the  style  of  the  Roman  poet,  upon  contemporary 
morals  and  manners.  In  his  preface,  which  is  dated  October. 
1829,  the  author  says:  "The  strictures  on  manners  exhibited 


POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 


in  the  satires,  are  not  so  pointedly  applicable  now  as  they  were 
a  dozen  years  ago.  They  are  preserved  as  being  not  too  highly 
colored  pictures  of  what  once  was,  while  the  writer  of  them  cheer- 
fully acknowledges  that,  since  the  period  of  their  composition, 
a  great  and,  he  would  hope,  a  permanent  change  of  manners 
has  taken  place." 

The  general  scope  of  the  satires  may  be  seen  from  the  follow- 
ing lines : — 

"  Would  I  had  fallen  on  some  happier  time, 
When  helpless  poverty  was  not  a  crime] 
When  virtue  and  religion  gave  a  tone, 
And  sense  and  taste  thro'  manly  manners  shone; 
When  men  to  different  grades  of  honor  grew 
By  true  desert — the  only  way  they  knew; 
And  nought  but  real  worth  and  merit  gave 
Charms  to  the  wise,  and  splendor  to  the  brave." 

We  are  accustomed  to  think  of  the  present  as  a  time  of 
material  interests.  The  pulpit  cries  out  against  the  worship  of 
Mammon.  But  if  we  may  trust  the  statements  of  our  satirist, 
the  present  age  compares  very  favorably  in  morals  with  a  century 
ago.  After  a  comprehensive  survey  of  men,  and  of  the  objects 
of  their  pursuit,  the  poet  concludes  that — 

"Wealth  is  their  God;  on  his  polluted  shrine 
They  offer  all  things  human  and  divine. 
Wealth  prompts  their  labors,  whether  foul  or  fair, 
In  courts  and  camps,  the  senate  and  the  bar. 
The  object  well-defined  and  understood, 
For  hoarded  cash  is  now  the  greatest  good. 
Virtue  is  praised  and  starves;  the  liberal  fare 
Would  make  her  plump,  could  she  but  live  on  air; 
While  all  the  passions,  listed  on  the  side 
Of  sneaking  avarice,  minister  to  pride, 
Hold  torpid  conscience  under  strong  control, 
And  give  a  fatal  bias  to  the  soul." 


FIRST  NATIONAL  PERIOD  97 

The  satirist  was  friendly  neither  to  slavery  nor  tobacco,  and 
lamented  the  utilitarian  spirit  which  was  displacing  true  learn- 
ing and  culture : — 

"For  knowledge  truly  every  bosom  pants, 
At  least  to  understand  tobacco  plants! 
The  mode  of  tilth  adapted  to  the  soil, 
And  wring  from  negroes  their  last  mite  of  toil! 
These  are  the  arts  that  claim  attention  now, 
To  these  must  genius,  learning,  science,  bow: 
While  the  delicious  sweets  of  classic  lore 
Are  left  untasted,  and  attract  no  more." 

The  Evening  Walk  is  likewise  a  satire,  but  less  passionate 
in  its  tone.  A  meditative  and  philosophic  sadness  tempers  its 
reflections  upon  the  follies  and  ills  of  life.  Blank  verse  takes 
the  place  of  rhymed  couplets.  At  the  pensive  twilight  hour, 
the  poet  strays  alone  and  worships  at  the  shrine  of  beauty: — 

"  Dear  Poesy,  enraptured  of  thy  charms, 
O  may  I  ever  wake  to  love  and  thee, 
From  the  low  dull  pursuits  of  common  life! 
Through  all  revolving  seasons  let  me  feel 
Thy  cheering  ray  benign,  and  every  sun 
Light  us  to  converse  sweet,  whether  his  beams 
Play  on  the  crimson  curtain  of  the  west 
Or  gild  the  mountains  with  the  blaze  of  morn; 
Light  up  a  gem  in  every  damask  bud, 
Or  sparkling  glance  along  the  drifted  snow." 

Advancing  years  brought  our  poet  disappointment  and  sor- 
row. The  death  of  a  beloved  son,  a  youth  of  sixteen,  came  as  a 
crushing  blow.  In  Apology  we  read: — 

"  My  harp  that  once  in  rapture  rung, 

Full-toned  to  joy  and  gladness, 
Lies  all  unheeded  and  unstrung 

Beneath  the  cloud  of  sadness; 
Vain  were  the  task,  the  effort  vain, 
To  wake  its  thrilling  notes  again." 
P.  of  Ya.— 7 


POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 


The  volume  before  us  closes  in  a  funereal  tone;  it  seems  to 
reflect  a  life  which,  in  spite  of  intellectual  gifts  of  a  high  order, 
ended  in  disappointed  hopes  and  habitual  sadness. 

Thomas  J.  Semmes. — The  author  of  Poems  ly  A  Collegian 
is  Thomas  J.  Semmes.  The  verse  in  this  volume,  which  was 
originallv  published  in  various  periodicals,  rises  above  the  level 
of  undergraduate  productions.  The  author,  however,  was  not 
misled,  as  sometimes  happens,  by  an  undue -'estimate  of  the  merit 
of  the  poems,  and  published  them  as  a  memorial  of  himself  for 
his  friends. 

To  My  Country  is  an  elevated  ode,  which  begins  as  fol- 
lows : — 

"  To  thee,  who  standest  as  a  child  in  age 

Amid  the  nations  now, 

Yet  round  whose  monarch  brow 
Is  bound  the  wreath  of  never-dying  glory— 
Thee,  who  hadst  freedom  for  thy  heritage, 
Yet  boastest  no  deeds  in  laureled  minstrel's  story; 
In  whose  pure  realm  and  simple  clime 

The  pomp  of  courts,  and  pride,  and  kingly  grace 

Ne'er  found  a  dwelling-place, 
To  thee  I  tune  my  lay,  thou  proudest  work  of  Time." 

The  poet  felt  the  solemnizing  influence  of  approaching  night, 
when  the  heart  turns  with  chastened  feelings  toward  the  great 
Source  of  life: — 

"  Evening — ''tis  then  the  o'erfraught  heart  doth  pour 
Its  wealth  of  pious  incense  at  the  shrine 
Of  Deity — the  spirit  then  may  soar 
Into  those  regions  where  the  angels  twine 
Wreaths  for  the  glorious  of  our  earthly  race; — 
'Tis  then  that  we  can  see,  and  feel,  and  trace 
His  glory  in  the  realms  of  starry  space." 


FIRST  NATIONAL  PERIOD 


The  poem  of  David  is  written  in  the  style  of  N".  P.  Willis : — 

"  King  David  knelt.    Rich  perfumes  played   round, 
Rising  luxuriantly  up  from  flowers, 
That  droopingly  bent  down  their  heads,  as  grieved 
To  part  from  their  rich  spirit  of  existence." 

There  are  passages  in  which  poetic  sentiment  is  happily 
wedded  to  melodious  expression.  The  following  stanza  embodies 
a  very  pleasing  fancy : — 

"And  when  the  stars   were  breathing  out 

Their  holy  light  to  earth, 
And  diamonding  the  glad  blue  sky 

For  the  young  moon's  queenly  birth, 
I've  gazed  upon  some  lovely  one, 

And  thought  that  it  might  be 
A  glorious  home  in  the  afterworld, 

In  which  to  live  with  thee." 

The  author  had  a  keen  appreciation  of  the  beauties  of  nature, 
and  the  glorious  night-time  especially  seemed  to  stir  poetic  emo- 
tion. Take  the  following  as  an  example: — 

"  The  air  is  like  a  tideless  sea 

Of  pure  and  silvery  light, 
And  the  waters  glance  transparently, 
Illumed  by  the  queen  of  night. 

"The  crested  waves  as  they  dash  on  high. 

And  dissolve  in  pearly  beads, 
Appear  as  a  carpet  spread  gaudily, 
Where  the  giant  sea-god  treads." 

The  volume,  apart  from  the  meritorious  character  of  the 
poetry,  is  notable  as  the  first  poetical  fruitage  of  the  University 
of  Virginia.  It  has  had  unfortunately  but  few  successors.  The 


100  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

University  has  produced  orators,  statesmen,  and  scholars;  but 
unlike  Harvard,  it  has  not  greatly  fostered  poetic  genius. 

Eobert  P.  Astrop. — As  we  learn  from  the  title  page,  Robert 
Francis  Astrop  was  from  Brunswick,  Va.  His  Original  Poems 
on  a  Variety  of  Subjects,  Interspersed  with  Tales,  was  published 
in  Philadelphia  in  1835;  and  though  it  contains  only  132  pages, 
it  claims  to  be  "the  largest  miscellaneous  collection  ever  pub- 
lished by  an  American  author."  With  the  range  of  subjects  in 
this  volume  there  is  no  fault  to  be  found;  it  is  sufficiently  com- 
prehensive and  varied.  But  the  author  is  unfortunately  one  of 
those  writers — too  numerous  in  the  early  annals  of  American 
literature — who  do  not  perceive  that  there  is  any  distinction 
between  verse  and  poetry.  Thus,  when  our  author  versifies 
Logan's  famous  speech  or  Washington's  address  to  Congress  in 
1789,  he  evidently  thinks  that  he  has  written  poetry;  the  fact  is, 
he  has  only  spoiled  good  prose.  A  single  extract  will  suffice : — 

"  To  any  white  man  I  appeal  to  say 

If  Logan's  hut  he  ever  entered  dry, 
Or  hungry,  cold,  and  naked,  came  that  way, 
And  he  his  wants  rejected  to  supply." 

Astrop  did  not  publish  his  book,  as  he  tells  us,  under  the 
patronage  of  great  names.  "  For  notice  and  encouragement, 
he  depends  alone  on  that  degree  of  genius  and  worth  which  a 
liberal  and  impartial  public  may  deem  him  possessed  of.  He 
writes  more  for  pleasure  than  necessity — more  through  a 
natural  inclination  than  a  thirst  for  fame,  and  desires,  above 
everything,  to  please  and  amuse.  His  heart,  like  that  of  every 
other  man,  is  sometimes  gay  and  sometimes  sad,  and  so  are  his 
writings."  The  author  was  patriotic  in  sentiment;  his  heart  in 
its  benevolence  turned  to  the  wretched  and  the  idle;  the  former 
he  wished  to  soothe,  and  the  latter  to  employ  with  his  writings. 
Perhaps  he  was  not  entirely  disappointed  in  this  benevolent  and 


FIRST  NATIONAL  PERIOD  101 

praiseworthy  purpose;  for  trifles,  as  all  the  world  knows,  often 
have  attractions  for  the  human  heart. 

Samuel  M.  Janney. — Mr.  Janney  was  not  only  a  poet,  but 
also  a  man  of  affairs  and  a  leader  among  the  Quakers  of  Vir- 
ginia. He  might  well  be  known  as  the  Quaker  poet  of  the  Old 
Dominion.  He  was,  according  to  the  testimony  of  those  who 
knew  him,  "an  able  minister  of  the  gospel,  sound  in  doctrine, 
endowed  with  wisdom  and  a  ready  utterance,  and  favored  with 
openings  into  the  mysteries  of  God's  kingdom." 

He  began  early  to  write  verse,  and  in  1824  his  brief  poem 
The  Country  School  House  was  awarded  the  prize  offered  by 
the  New  York  Mirror  for  the  best  poetic  composition.  This 
success  led  to  a  correspondence  with  the  editor  George  P.  Morris, 
and  subsequently  to  a  personal  acquaintance.  The  poem  in 
question,  written  in  the  measure  and  spirit  of  Gray's  Elegy, 
is  a  remarkable  poem  for  a  young  man.  It  shows  not  only 
native  talent  but  also  considerable  mastery  of  literary  form.  It 
contains  stanzas  that  would  not  be  discordant  in  Gray's  immortal 
poem.  Take  this,  for  example : — 

"  Not  all  the  praise  on  history's  page  enrolled 

Can  stay  the  course  of  man's  expiring  breath, 
Nor  fame's  loud  trump,  nor  ramparts  formed  of  gold, 
Control  the  ravage  of  the  victor  Death." 

Our  author,  a  native  of  Loudoun  County,  Va.,  was  married 
in  1826.  On  his  wedding  trip  he  visited  Niagara  Falls  and 
some  of  the  Northern  lakes.  At  Lake  George  he  wrote  a  poem 
that  displays  at  once  his  keen  admiration  of  natural  beauty  and 
his  excellent  powers  of  vivid  description: — 

"Oh!   I  have  watched  with  rapture-lighted  eye 
The  earliest  dawn  that  tinged  yon  orient  sky, — 
Seen  the  blue  mists  around  these  mountains  rolled, 
Their  graceful  outlines  tinged  with  burnished  gold, 


102  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

Till  from  yon  cliffs  that  o'er  the  water  frown, 

The  sun  uprisen  poured  his  radiance  down; 

Chased  by  his  light,  the  sombre  shades  withdrew, 

The  scattered  clouds  in  wild  confusion  flew, 

Clear  and  distinct  each  beauteous  scene  became, 

And  all  the  mountain  tops  were  fringed  with  flame." 

Several  years  later  he  spent  some  weeks  at  the  Eed  Sulphur 
Springs  in  Monroe  County  for  his  health.  He  lived  in  a  log 
cabin  by  himself;  and  in  his  loneliness  he  sometimes  found 
entertainment  in  writing  verse.  It  was  there  that  A  Night 
Scene  Among  the  Mountains  of  Virginia  was  written,  a  poem 
which  he  pronounced  among  the  best  of  his  compositions  at 
that  time.  Its  opening  stanzas  are  as  follows : — 

"  How  calm  and  glorious  Is  the  hour  of  night 

In  these  uncultured,  solitary  wilds, 
When  o'er  each  lowly  vale  and  lofty  height 

The  full-orbed  moon  in  cloudless  lustre  smiles. 

"  Those  lofty  mountains  with  their  forests  green, 

And  craggy  summits  towering  to  the  sky, 
How  proudly  do  they  rise  o'er  all  the  scene, 

And  lift  the  mind  from  earth  to  muse  on  high. 

"  And  yon  pure  rivulet  that  pours  along, 

Playing  and  sparkling  in  the  moonbeams  clear, 
How  sweet  the  music  of  its  vesper  song, 

In  changeful  cadence,  falls  upon  the  ear. 

"  And  hark!  the  roar  of  those  far-spreading  woods, 

Sinking  or  rising  as  the  wind  sweeps  by; 
Myriads  of  voices  fill  these  solitudes, 

And  send  the  notes  of  melody  on  high." 

In  1839  he  published  The  Last  of  the  Lenape  and  Other 
Poems,  including  those  already  mentioned.  "  I  was  encouraged 
by  my  friends  to  believe,"  he  says,  "that  they  had  sufficient 


FIRST  NATIONAL  PERIOD  103 

literary  merit  to  win  popular  favor,  and  the  edition  of  one  thous- 
and copies  was  disposed  of  readily,  but  there  seemed  to  be  no 
demand  for  another  edition.  Some  years  later  I  wrote  and  pub- 
lished a  few  other  poems,  but  gradually  my  taste  for  poetry 
declined,  and  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  I  should  succeed 
better  in  prose,  which  proved  to  be  the  ease."  This  quotation  is 
from  his  Memoirs,  an  interesting  autobiography  to  which  we 
are  indebted  for  other  facts  embodied  in  this  sketch. 

The  Last  of  the  Lenape  is  introduced  by  an  Essay  on 
Poetry,  which  is  as  applicable  to  conditions  to-day  as  to  those 
of  seventy  years  ago.  "  In  this  utilitarian  age,"  writes  the 
author,  "the  wonderful  discoveries  of  science,  the  progress  of 
civil  liberty,  and  the  rapid  march  of  improvement  in  the 
mechanic  arts,  in  manufactures,  and  in  navigation,  have  turned 
the  attention  of  the  public  almost  entirely  to  those  pursuits 
which  minister  to  the  physical  wants  of  man.  It  is  not  the 
design  of  this  essay  to  discourage  those  pursuits,  but  merely  to 
show  that  there  are  others  which  relate  more  immediately  to  the 
wants  of  the  mind,  and  which  have  an  equal,  if  not  a  still  greater 
tendency  to  extend  the  sphere  of  human  enjoyment.  The  happi- 
ness of  man  does  not  depend  so  much  upon  the  extent  of  his 
temporal  possessions,  as  upon  the  purity  of  his  desires,  and  the 
harmonious  action  of  his  moral  and  intellectual  powers." 

In  the  Dedication  the  poet  expresses  the  purpose  of  his  lays 
and  his  conception  of  the  poetic  art : — 

"  'Tls  not  an  idle  song  I  here  present, 

The  wildering  fires  of  passion  to  impart, 
But  framed  with  higher  views, — and  with  intent 

To  wake  the  finer  feelings  of  the  heart: 

For  'tis  the  province  of  the  minstrel's  art, 
(A  noble  art  when  worthily  pursued,) 

To  soothe  the  anguish  left  by  sorrow's  dart, 
To  cheer  the  lonely  hours  of  solitude, 
And  fill  the  soul  with  love  for  all  that's  great  and  good." 


104  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

The  title  poem,  the  incidents  of  which  are  supposed  to  have 
occurred  in  the  neighborhood  of  Philadelphia  about  16833  is  a 
tradition  of  Indian  kindness  and  its  subsequent  reward  by  Eng- 
lish colonists.  The  friendly  tribe  of  the  Lenape  had  melted 
away  till  only  one  was  left. 

"  That  one — sad  relic  of  a  tribe 

Now  passed  from  earth  away — 
They  brought  to  their  own  home,  and  there 
They  cherished  her  with  pious  care, 

Till  life's  last  closing  day." 

Tewinissa  is  another  Indian  legend  told  in  simple  ballad 
form.  Several  of  the  pieces — Potomac,  Jefferson's  Rock 
at  Harper's  Ferry,  The  Peaks  of  Otter, — describe  picturesque 
and  beautiful  features  of  the  author's  native  state.  There  are  a 
few  devotional  lyrics  which  in  their  religious  fervor  and  artistic 
form  would  grace  any  hymn-book.  In  short,  it  is  evident  that 
Mr.  Janney  possessed  poetic  gifts  of  no  mean  order;  and  had 
he  continued  to  cultivate  the  muse,  he  would  have  further  en- 
riched our  store  of  poetry. 

The  later  years  of  his  life  were  spent  in  the  service  of  religion 
and  of  his  country.  He  rose  to  prominence  among  the  Society 
of  Friends.  He  was  active  in  his  opposition  to  slavery — an  op- 
position that  once  brought  him  before  the  Loudoun  court.  He 
entered  a  canvass  for  free  schools  in  Virginia;  and  after  the 
Civil  "War  he  was  made  superintendent  of  Indian  Affairs — an 
office  he  filled  with  great  fidelity  and  efficiency.  The  life  of  this 
large-minded  and  upright  poet,  minister,  citizen,  and  public  ser- 
vant came  to  a  lamented  end  April  30,  1880. 

John  K.  Mitchell. — John  Keardsly  Mitchell  was  born  at  Shep- 
herdstown,  Va.  His  family  was  from  Scotland;  and  after  the 
death  of  his  father,  he  was  sent  to  Ayr  and  Edinburgh  to  be 


FIRST  NATIONAL  PERIOD  105 

educated.  He  returned  to  this  country,  studied  medicine  in 
Philadelphia,  and  in  1841  was  made  a  professor  in  Jefferson 
Medical  College.  In  addition  to  his  lectures  on  the  Practice  of 
Medicine,  he  was  a  contributor  to  the  American  Medical  Journal. 
In  1839  he  published  Indecision,  a  Tale  of  the  Far  West, 
and  other  Poems.  It  is  dedicated  to  1ST.  Chapman,  M.  D.,  a 
former  medical  instructor,  in  a  few  excellent  verses  that  recall 
his  education  in  Scotland:- — 

"  Dear  Doctor,  though  I  hae  the  will, 
I  fear  I  want  poetic  skill 

To  do  ye  muckle  credit; 
But  yet  I'll  imp  my  youthfu'  wing, 
And  o'  my  quid  preceptor  sing, 

Though  ye  y'ersel  may  dread  it." 

The  title  poem  of  the  volume  is  a  sad  romance  covering  a 
hundred  pages.  It  is  written  in  rhymed  iambic  pentameter; 
and  through  the  tragic  life  of  the  hero  it  teaches  the  moral,  as 
expressed  in  the  concluding  lines — 

"  That  indecision  marks  Us  path  with  tears; 
That  want  of  candor  darkens  future  years; 
That  perfect  truth  is  virtue's  safest  friend; 
And  that  to  shun  the  wrong  is  better  than  to  mend." 

Though  the  story  is  painfully  sad,  it  is  illumined  with  many 
admirable  descriptive  passages.  Take,  for  example,  this  de- 
scription of  morning  at  sea: — 

"  A  beaming  point  just  tips  the  doubtful  verge, 
Where  sea  and  sky  their  dubious  colors  merge, 
And  up,  at  one  bright  leap,  in  glory  springs 
The  sun,  and  o'er  the  ocean  spreads  his  wings. 
Along  the  rippling  waters,  golden  light 
A  trembling  causeway  paves,  so  pure,  so  bright 


106  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

A  path  to  Heaven,  it  seems  to  fancy's  eye 

Continued  upward  thro'  the  yellow  sky 

In  clouds  like  clustered  gems  of  every  hue, 

To  pale  the  ruby's  blush  and  shame  the  sapphire's  blue." 

In  the  Southern  Literary  Messenger  for  May,  1839,  there  is  an 
elaborate  review  of  Dr.  Mitchell's  volume  of  poems.  Inde- 
cision is  declared  to  illustrate  "  the  spirit  of  true  poetry."  The 
editor  says,  "  Dr.  Mitchell  is  a  poet.  Its  spirit  has  thrilled  in 
his  heart,  and  its  breathings  are  visible  in  the  words  to  which 
he  gives  utterance.  He  never  could  have  written,  in  the  first 
instance,  merely  to  see  his  name  and  his  productions  in  print. 
The  lively  principle  stirred  within  him,  and  he  obeyed  its 
promptings — the  burning  thoughts  'came  crowding  thickly  up 
for  utterance/  and  he  spoke." 

Among  the  minor  poems  of  the  volume  is  one  entitled  The 
New  and  the  Old  Song,  the  sentiment  and  lilt  of  which  go  to 
the  heart.  It  here  follows  in  full : — 

"  A  new  song  should  be  sweetly  sung, 

It  goes  but  to  the  ear; 
A  new  song  should  be  sweetly  sung, 

For  it  touches  no  one  near: 
But  an  old  song  may  be  roughly  sung; 

The  ear  forgets  its  art, 
As  comes  upon  the  rudest  tongue 

The  tribute  of  the  heart. 

"  A  new  song  should  be  sweetly  sung, 

For  memory  gilds  it  not; 
It  brings  not  back  the  strains  that  rung 

Through  childhood's  sunny  cot. 
But  an  old  song  may  be  roughly  sung, 

It  tells  of  days  of  glee, 
When  the  boy  to  his  mother  clung, 

Or  danced  on  his  father's  knee. 


FIRST  NATIONAL  PERIOD  107 

"  On  tented  fields  'tis  welcome  still; 

'Tis  sweet  on  the  stormy  sea, 
In  forest  wild,  on  rocky  hill, 

And  away  on  the  prairie-lea: — 
But  dearer  far  the  old  song, 

When  friends  we  love  are  nigh, 
And  well-known  voices,  clear  and  strong, 

Unite  in  the  chorus-cry 

"  Of  the  old  song,  the  old  song, 

The  song  of  the  days  of  glee, 
When  the  boy  to  his  mother  clung, 

Or  danced  on  his  father's  knee! 
Oh,  the  old  song — the  old  song! 

The  song  of  the  days  of  glee; 
The  new  song  may  be  better  sung, 

But  the  good  old  song  for  me!" 

The  latter  part  of  the  volume  under  review  is  made  up  of 
Sacred  Poetry,  in  which  the  author  gathers  some  "sweet 
flowers  by  the  banks  of  the  river  of  life/'  In  the  following 
brief  poem  he  expresses  his  views  on  Infidelity : — 

"  The  fiend  that  comes  with  stealthy  pace 

To  filch  our  hopes  away, 
To  snatch  from  human  misery 
Its  comfort  and  its  stay: 

"  That  strikes  away  the  last  fond  hope 

On  which  the  spirit  leans, 
The  only  gem  the  dying  heart 

Prom  earthly  brilliants  gleans." 


CHAPTER  X 

Poets  from  1840  to  1850 

Krs.  Webster.— Mrs.  M.  M.  Webster  lived  in  Richmond.  In 
1840  she  published  a  volume  of  220  pages  entitled  Pocahontas. 
There  was  a  peculiar  fitness  in  the  authorship  of  this  poem ;  for 
Mrs.  Webster  was  a  direct  descendant,  at  the  seventh  remove, 
of  the  famous  heroine  she  celebrates.  No  doubt  she  felt  a  par- 
donable pride  in  her  kinship  with  one  who  to  royalty  of  birth 
added  the  higher  excellence  of  nobility  of  character. 

She  needs  no  justification  in  her  choice  of  a  theme ;  but  what 
she  has  said  about  the  American  Indians  is  so  well  expressed, 
that  it  is  worth  quoting  as  an  apology  for  all  similar  subjects. 
"  Few  subjects/'  she  says,  "  belong  more  peculiarly  to  the 
province  of  poetry  than  events  connected  with  the  Aborigines  of 
our  country.  They  were  altogether  a  poetic  race.  Their  deeds 
of  heroic  daring,  their  uncomplaining  endurance  of  physical 
suffering,  affecting  instances  of  patriotic  devotion,  scenes  of 
domestic  loveliness  and  personal,  unbroken  friendships, — these, 
besides  the  varied  and  romantic  scenery  of  their  boundless 
domains,  are  fitting  themes  for  the  investments  of  the  poet's 
fancy,  no  less  than  for  the  records  of  the  faithful  historian." 

The  poem,  which  is  divided  into  five  books,  follows  in  the 
main  the  annals  of  history.  The  author,  however,  has  not  been 
content  with  a  mere  versified  form  of  history;  but,  with  true 
poetic  insight  and  fancy,  she  has  enriched  the  narrative,  and 
raised  it  above  the  realm  of  prose.  There  are  faint  hints  and 
traditions  handed  down  from  colonial  days  which  she  has  skill- 
fully employed.  "  These  traditionary  incidents,"  she  says,  "  it 
has  been  the  author's  endeavor  to  weave  into  wild  and  simple 
measures,  divested  of  much  of  the  extraneous  ornament  which 

[108] 


FIRST  NATIONAL  PERIOD  109 

fashion  sometimes  imposes.  Our  heroine  is  presented  to  the 
reader  in  every  stage  of  her  being,  from  fancy's  dawn  to  maturer 
years,  through  scenes  as  varied  and  as  thrilling  as  the  wildest 
'fancy  might  sketch.  A  prodigy  of  goodness,  she  is  found  dis- 
pensing blessings  around  her,  even  at  the  hazard  of  parental 
displeasure;  and,  at  a  tender  age,  offering  the  tribute  of  sym- 
pathy where  effort  would  be  unavailing." 

The  verse  consists  of  varied  lyrical  forms  that  gracefully 
yield  to  the  changing  sentiment.  A  single  extract  must  suffice 
by  way  of  illustration.  The  fair  Matoa,  later  known  as  Poca- 
hontas,  found,  on  returning  from  exile,  a  captive  stranger  at  her 
father's  court : — 

.  "  Before  the  monarch's  presence  stood 
A  graceful  form  with  radiant  eye; 
With  power  unfelt,  but  purpose  good, 
To  cloud  his  star's  dark  destiny. 

"Held  by  the  thews  of  forest  deer, 

Alone  this  mystic  being  stands. 
Oh!  was  it  reverence,  love,  or  fear, 
That  bade  Matoa  burst  his  bands? 

"  And  when  condemned  by  ruthless  hate, 

His  life-blood  doomed  to  flow  around, 
Her  courage  stayed  the  victim's  fate, 

And  bared  her  bosom  to  the  wound. 

"  And  even  when  the  ready  knife 

Seemed  thirsting  for  the  pale  man's  blood, 
Threatening  wild  vengeance  on  a  life 
Devoted  to  the  public  good, — 

"The  watchful,  kind  Matoa  came, 

Like  winged  seraph  from  afar, 
Sweet  Mercy's  errands  to  proclaim, 
And  heal  the  feuds  of  savage  war." 


110  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

Kobert  Tyler. — Robert  Tyler,  the  son  of  John  Tyler  who 
afterwards  became  president  of  the  United  States,  was  born  in 
New  Kent  County,  Va.  He  graduated  in  law  at  William  and 
Mary  College  in  1837.  He  then  took  up  his  residence  at  Bristol, 
Pa.,  where  he  won  distinction  at  the  bar.  During  his  father's 
administration,  he  was  connected  with  the  Patent  Office.  Sub- 
sequently he  resided  in  Philadelphia  and  took  an  active  part  in 
the  politics  of  the  city  and  the  State. 

Owing  to  his  strong  Southern  sympathies,  he  found  it  advis- 
able to  leave  Pennsylvania  in  1861 ;  and  returning  to  his  native 
State,  he  became  register  of  the  treasury  of  the  Southern  Con- 
federacy— a  position  which  he  held  throughout  the  Civil  War. 
Afterwards  he  settled  in  Montgomery,  Ala.,  where  he  edited 
the  Mail  and  Advertiser,  and  continued  his  active  interest 
in  the  political  questions  of  the  day.  He  was  regarded  as  an 
eloquent  speaker,  and  esteemed  as  a  man  of  "commanding 
talents  and  excellent  heart/' 

In  1842  he  published  a  poem  'AJiasuerus,  which  is  based 
on  the  legend  of  the  Wandering  Jew.  In  the  preface  the  author 
expresses  the  hope  that  "the  inexperience  of  a  first  effort  will 
excuse  many  of  its  numerous  imperfections.  It  is  certainly 
in  a  state  of  mind  vacillating  between  hope  and  fear  that  the 
author  has  determined,  at  the  solicitation  of  some  friends,  to 
publish  a  poem  that  he  flatters  himself  may  not  prove  to  be 
entirely  unworthy  of  perusal  by  his  countrymen.  If  it  be  con- 
demned, he  has  at  least  the  consolation  to  know  that  it  is  not  the 
first  foolish  book  which  has  been  issued  from  the  press." 

No  doubt  our  author  was  easily  persuaded  by  his  friends,  and 
not  without  reason.  The  blank  verse  of  the  poem  displays  vigor 
of  thought  and  vividness  of  description.  Here  is  a  picture  of 
the  Jew  in  sacerdotal  robes,,  as  with  dark  curses  upon  his  life  he 
insults  the  patient  sufferer  upon  the  cross : — 


FIRST  NATIONAL  PERIOD  111 

"  Revenge  lay  like  a  serpent  on  his  lip, 

And  hate  was  writhing  on  his  cruel  brow; 

On  his  forehead  bold  a  frown  lay  coiled, 

Dark  as  the  malice  of  his  cruel  heart. 

Smiling  in  scorn,  he  raised  on  high  his  hand, 

And  smote  the  fainting  Saviour's  ashy  cheek, 

Then  spat  upon  him  with  a  fiendish  ire. 

A  flush  of  agony  passed  o'er  Christ's  face, 

And  they  who  nearest  stood  heard  these  low  words: 
'  Ahasuerus,  tarry  till  I  come.' " 

Here  is  a  picture  of  the  ocean  when  at  the  end  of  all  things 
Death  brooded  over  the  world.  If  it  contains  a  suggestion  of 
Byron,  it  has,  at  the  same  time,  a  freedom  and  power  of  its 
own : — 

"  Crestless  and  surgeless  the  untraveled  seas, 
No  longer  moved  by  tide  or  lifting  breeze, 
Slept  dark  and  stagnant  on  their  unwashed  sands. 
The  thick  and  inky  element  stood  still, 
No  more  to  sing  in  triumph  to  the  gale, 
No  more  to  bear  swift  o'er  its  briny  foam 
The  white-winged  bird,  the  eagle  of  the  sea; 
In  the  wide  basin  of  the  unfathomed  deep 
Waveless  and  black  the  bitter  waters  rest." 

Ahasuerus,  amid  the  darkness  and  ruin,  breathes  a  prayer  of 
burning  penitence,  and  " sleeps  at  last": — 

"Upward  on  wings  of  penitence,  his  soul 
Hath  sought  the  pure  realms  of  eternal  rest; 
And  with  the  bow  of  glory  set  on  high, 
With  flashing  seas  and  smiling  azure  skies, 
With  purple  mists  and  golden-bannered  clouds, 
Millennium  comes,  and  Earth,  harmonious  all, 
Rolls  slowly  through  her  silver-beaming  sphere, 
And  swells  the  music  of  the  choral  stars." 


112  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

St.  Leger  Landon  Carter. — For  several  years  Mr.  Carter  was 
a  frequent  and  favorite  contributor  to  the  Southern  Literary 
Messenger.  In  1844  he  published  his  contributions  in  book 
form  with  the  not  unfitting  title  of  Nugae  by  Nugator.  Both 
in  prose  and  verse  he  indulged  a  light,  playful  vein.  He  was 
not  weighted  with  a  ponderous  philosophy,  but  gayly  enjoyed 
beauty  and  humor  wherever  he  found  it.  He  sometimes  fell 
into  satire,  but  it  was  never  earnest  enough  to  inflict  a  wound. 

As  a  poet  Carter  was  lacking  in  what  Matthew  Arnold  has 
called  "high  seriousness."  He  delighted  in  parody,  and  was 
fond  of  appropriating  lines  and  phrases  from  other  poets,  making 
honest  use  of  quotation  marks.  His  genius  was  nimble  and 
versatile,  and  he  did  not  make  the  mistake  of  taking  himself  or 
the  world  too  seriously.  His  range  of  effort  may  be  judged1 
from  representative  themes — March  Court,  The  Wagoner, 
The  Sale,  To  Dyspepsia,  The  Mocking  Bird,  The  Old  Church. 

In  those  days,  as  in  more  recent  years,  there  were  people  who 
were  disloyal  enough  to  intimate  that  the  Old  Dominion  was  too 
conservative — 

"  That  all  her   days   were   spent,   forsooth, 

In  one  eternal  chime 
About  her  deeds  of  early  youth — 
'  Resolves  '  of  former  time." 

With  playful  irony  our  author  controverts  this  view,  and 
declares  himself  ready  to  shed  the  last  drop — of  ink,  in  her 
defense.  The  advocates  of  a  disquieting  progress  he  stigmatizes 
as  fanatics : — 

"In  short,  all  zealots  are  run  mad 

To  abuse  this  pleasing  sod, 
Where  people  sleep  as  sound,  egad, 
As  in  the  land  of  Nod." 

Darkness  is   a  serious   poem   with   some   strong   lines,   but 


FIRST  NATIONAL  PERIOD  113 

it  suffers  by  an  inevitable  comparison  with  Shelley's  masterful 
Cloud.     The  first  stanzas  are  quoted : — 

"Away  with  thee,  Light!  thou  'effluence  bright!  ' 

Make  room  for  my  ebon  car; 
When  it  wheels  on  its  track  with  hangings  of  black, 

I  curtain  the  moon  and  the  star. 
I  love  to  go  forth  with  the  storms  of  the  North, 

To  follow  the  hurricane's  sweep, 
When  the  ships  mounting  high  ride  up  to  the  sky, 

Then  down  to  the  fathomless  deep. 

"  The  lightning,  it  gleams,  but  I  swallow  its  beams — 

My  kingdom  it  cannot  control; 
The  fire-rent  cloud  I  enwrap  in  my  shroud, 

And  terror  I  strike  to  the  soul; 
I  darken  my  scowl  with  the  wind's  loud  howl, 

When  God  to  the  shipwrecked  speaks, 
And  his  thunderings  drown,  as  the  ship  goes  down, 

Their  wild  and  unearthly  shrieks." 

Perhaps  none  of  our  author's  poems  has  been  admired  more 
than  The  Sleet,  which,  though  drawn  out  too  long,  contains 
some  graphic  word-painting.  Take,  for  example,  these  stan- 
zas : — 

"  The  beech-tree  stands  in  rich  array  of  long  and  shining  threads, 
Its  brittle  boughs  all  bending  low  to  earth  their  drooping  heads; 
And  now  and  then  some  broken  limb  comes  crashing  from  on  high, 
And  showering  down  a  world  of  gems  that  sparkle  as  they  fly. 

"  The  lofty  oak — the  hundred  limbed  Briareus  of  the  trees. 
Spreads  out  his  ponderous  icy  arms,  loud  cracking  in  the  breeze, 
And  as  the  roused  up  lion  '  shakes  the  dewdrops  from  his  mane,' 
So  does  the  woodland  monarch  shake  his  crystals  o'er  the  plain." 

But  after  all,  it  must  be  confessed  that  there  is  a  good  deal 
of  shrewd  self-knowledge  in  our  author's  address  To  Poetry, 
which  follows  in  full : — 
p.  of  Va.— 8 


114  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

"O  Poetry!   thou  nymph  divine! 

Invoked  so  oft  in  vain! 
How  ardently  I've  wished  thee  mine — 
I've  writ  thee  many  a  foolish  line, 
But  still  thou  let'st  me  inly  pine, 

And  die  at  thy  disdain. 

"  I've  wooed  thee  in  sequestered  vale, 

On  side  of  sunny  hill; 
I've  sought  thee  in  the  moonlight  pale, 
When  summer's  sweets  perfumed  the  gale — 
The  soft  pursuit  did  not  avail, 
For  thou  wert  cruel  still. 

"  I've  sighed  for  thee  at  midnight  dark, 

In  silence  deep — profound, 
I've  thought  I  heard  thee  coming — hark! 
I  said,  her  form  I  dimly  mark, 
She  now  will  bring  Promethean  spark — 

'Twas  but  a  cheating  sound. 

"I've  strolled  along  the  sounding  shore, 

Thou  lov'st  the  path  sublime; 
I've  climbed  the  cliffs  where  eagles  soar, 
And  heard  the  torrent's  deafening  roar, 
But  found  thee  not,  nor  would,  I'm  sure, 
Until  the  end  of  time." 

Philip  Pendleton  Cooke. — Too  often  the  light  of  genius  is 
extinguished  by  the  tomb.  The  promise  given  by  early  achieve- 
ments is  destined  never  to  be  realized;  and  we  deplore  a  loss 
without  ever  fully  understanding  its  nature  or  extent.  This 
truth  finds  exemplification  in  the  literary  annals  of  every  coun- 
try; and  the  life  of  Philip  Pendleton  Cooke  affords  us  another 
illustration.  Before  his  gifts  had  reached  their  full  maturity 
and  before  he  could  carry  out  a  moiety  of  the  literary  schemes  of 
his  fertile  mind,  he  was  suddenly  taken  away. 

Philip  Pendleton  Cooke,  an  elder  brother  of  John   Esten, 


FIRST  NATIONAL  PERIOD  115 

was  born  in  Martinsburg,  Va.,  October  16,  1816.  He  was  edu- 
cated at  Princeton,  where  his  fondness  for  literature,  particularly 
for  poetry,,  detracted,  as  in  so  many  other  cases,  from  his  pro- 
ficiency in  the  studies  of  the  curriculum.  He  studied  law  under 
his  father  at  Winchester,  but  he  never  gave  to  his  profession  a 
whole-hearted  service. 

He  had  two  well  developed  passions — hobbies,  one  might 
almost  call  them:  the  first  was  hunting,  the  other,  poetry. 
There  was  no  heartier  sportsman  in  the  Shenandoah  Valley. 
He  was  singing  from  the  heart  in  the  following  lines : — 

"  What  passionate 

And  wild  delight  is  in  the  proud  swift  chase! 
Go  out  what  time  the  lark,  at  heaven's  red  gate, 
Soars  joyously  singing — quite  infuriate 

With  the  high  pride  of  his  place; 
What  time  the  unrisen  sun  arrays  the  morning 

In  its  first  bright  adorning. 

"  Urge  your  swift  horse 
After  the  crying  hounds  in  this  fresh  hour, 
Vanquish  high  hills — stem  perilous  streams  perforce — 
Where  the  glades  ope,  give  free  wings  to  your  course — 

And  you  will  know  the  power 
Of  the  brave  chase — and  how  of  griefs  the  sorest, 

A  cure  is  in  the  forest!  " 

But  it  was  not  merely  the  excitements  of  the  chase  that  wooed 
him,  but  a  deep  love  of  nature — a  spirit  sensitive  to  all  the 
mystical  charm  of  wood  and  field.  So  he  wrote, — 

"I  love  the  woods 

In  this  best  season  of  the  liberal  year; 
I  love  to  haunt  their  whispering  solitudes, 
And  give  myself  to  melancholy  moods, 

With  no  intruder  near; 

And  find  strange  lessons,  as  I  sit  and  ponder. 
On  every  natural  wonder." 


116  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

In  poetry  he  loved  the  old  masters  Chaucer  and  Spenser. 
While  still  an  undergraduate,  at  the  age  of  seventeen,  he  wrote 
verse  for  the  Knickerbocker  Magazine,  in  which  his  Song  of 
the  Sioux  Lover  first  appeared.  He  was  a  favorite  contributor 
to  the  Southern  Literary  Messenger  both  in  verse  and  prose,  till 
the  time  of  his  death.  In  his  poetic  composition  he  felt  the 
rapture  of  a  genuine  creative  artist.  "  I  love,"  he  says  in  one 
of  his  letters,  "the  fever-fits  of  composition.  The  music  of 
rhythm,  coming  from  God  knows  where,  like  the  airy  melody 
in  the  Tempest,  tingles  pleasantly  in  my  veins  and  fingers;  I 
like  to  build  the  verse  cautiously,  but  with  the  excitement  of  a 
rapid  writer,  which  I  rein  in  and  check ;  and  then,  we  both  know 
how  glorious  it  is  to  make  the  gallant  dash,  and  round  off  the 
stanza  with  the  sonorous  couplet,  or  with  some  rhyme  as  natural 
to  its  place  as  a  leaf  on  a  tree,  but  separated  from  its  mate  that 
peeps  down  to  it  over  the  inky  ends  of  many  intervening  lines." 

His  hunting  associates  hardly  formed  a  congenial  atmosphere 
for  the  development  of  his  literary  gifts.  As  a  rule,  they  were 
far  more  prosaic  in  temperament,  and  entertained  an  ill-dis- 
guised contempt  for  his  poetic  pursuits.  "What  do  you  think 
of  a  friend  of  mine,"  he  once  humorously  wrote,  "  a  most  valu- 
able and  worthy  and  hard-riding  one,  saying  gravely  to  me  a 

short  time  ago,  ( I  wouldn't  waste  time  on  a  d d  thing  like 

poetry ;  you  might  make  yourself,  with  all  your  sense  and  judg- 
ment, a  useful  man  in  settling  neighborhood  disputes  and  dif- 
ferences/ ''  Though  he  could  smile  at  such  prosaic  limitation, 
he  was  unable  .to  escape  entirely  its  chilling  effects. 

His  Froissart  Ballads  and  Other  Poems,  which  was  pub- 
lished in  Philadelphia  in  1847,  was  well  received.  Many  of  the 
pieces  had  previously  appeared  in  the  Southern  Literary  Mes- 
senger. The  origin  of  the  ballad  portion  of  the  volume,  as 
explained  in  the  preface,  is  found  in  the  lines  of  an  old  Eoman 
poet : — 


FIRST  NATIONAL  PERIOD  117 

"  A  certain  freak  has  got  into  my  head, 

Which  I  can't  conquer  for  the  life  of  me, 
Of  taking  up  some  history  little  read, 
Or  known,  and  writing  it  in  poetry." 

There  are  five  ballads,  two  of  which,  The  Master  of  Bolton 
and  Geoffrey  Tetenoir,  are  original  inventions.  The  remain- 
ing three  are  from  old  Froissart,  "  and  as  faithful  to  the  text/' 
says  the  author,  "as  the  necessities  of  verse  permitted  me  to 
make  them/'  The  Master  of  Bolton,  the  longest  of  the  bal- 
lads, is  written  in  easy,  flowing  octosyllabic  verse,  after  the  man- 
ner of  Scott's  Lady  of  the  Lake.  The  rest  follow  old  ballad 
measures,  and  all  glide  "onward  with  the  musical  flow  of  the 
Opequon,  on  whose  banks  the  poet  so  frequently  paused  to  gaze 
at  the  enchanting  landscape."  A  few  lines  from  The  Master 
of  Bolton  will  serve  for  illustration : — 

"  Attended  by  her  happy  hours, 

The  maiden  May  walks  garlanded; 
The  earth  is  beautiful  with  flowers, 

And  birds  are  jocund  overhead. 
Wide  valleys,  verdant  from  the  showers, 

By  fertile  cares  of  April  shed, 
Give  promise  to  the  hungry  towers 

Of  summer  fruits  and  autumn  bread." 

Two  of  our  author's  poems — Florence  Vane  and  Rosalie 
Lee — have  been  more  popular  than  all  the  rest.  They  were 
originally  published  in  the  Southern  Literary  Messenger,  and 
met,  as  he  tells  us,  "  with  more  favor  than  I  could  ever  perceive 
their  just  claim  to."  This  popularity  kept  him  from  "  venturing 
upon  the  correction  of  some  faults  "  which  he  found  in  them. 
Rosalie  Lee  seems  juvenile  and  defective,  particularly  in  its 
rhymes;  but  Florence  Vane,  apart  from  its  superior  artistic 
quality,  breathes  a  sincerity  and  pathos  that  make  it  one  of  the 
sweetest  lyrical  productions  of  Virginia.  It  is  given  entire: — 


118  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

"  I  loved  thee  long  and  dearly, 

Florence  Vane; 
My  life's  bright  dream,  and   early, 

Hath  come  again; 
I  renew,  in  my  fond  vision, 

My  heart's  dear  pain, 
My  hope,  and  thy  derision, 

Florence  Vane. 

"The  ruin  lone  and  hoary, 

The  ruin  old, 
Where  thou  did'st  hark  my  story, 

At  even  told, — 
That  spot — the  hues  Elysian 

Of  sky  and  plain — 
I  treasure  in  my  vision, 

Florence  Vane. 

"  Thou  wast  lovelier  than  the  roses 

In  their  prime; 
Thy  voice  excelled  the  closes 

Of  sweetest  rhyme; 
Thy  heart  was  as  a  river 

Without  a  main. 
Would  I  had  loved  thee  never, 

Florence  Vane. 

"But  fairest,  coldest  wonder! 

Thy  glorious  clay 
Lieth  the  green  sod  under — 

Alas  the  day! 
And  it  boots  not  to  remember 

Thy  disdain — 
To  quicken  love's  pale  ember, 

Florence  Vane. 

"  The  lilies  of  the  valley 

By  young  graves  weep; 
The  daisies  love  to  dally 
Where  maidens  sleep; 


FIRST  NATIONAL  PERIOD  119 

May  their  bloom,  in  beauty  vying, 

Never  wane, 
Where  thine  earthly  part  is  lying, 

Florence  Vane." 

Of  our  author's  other  poems  and  of  his  stories  there  is  not 
room  to  speak.  He  died  at  his  home  near  Winchester,  January 
20,  1850,  lamented,  not  only  by  his  neighbors  and  comrades, 
but  also  by  the  much  larger  circle  of  friends  that  his  writings 
had  made  for  him. 

C.  M.  Farmer. — Mr.  Farmer  is  the  author  of  The  Fairy  of 
the  Stream,  and  Other  Poems,  which  was  published  in  Eich- 
mond  in  1847.  He  was  a  lawyer  of  Charlotte  County.  His 
book  contains  the  old-fashioned  preface,  from  which  we  learn 
that  the  poems  were  not  originally  intended  for  publication; 
that  they  were  written  merely  "  with  the  view  of  beguiling  the 
author's  leisure  hours."  But  patriotic  motives  later  caused  him 
to  change  his  mind.  "  Reflecting  that  from  some  of  the  most 
beautiful  and  poetic  spots  of  Virginia  no  song  but  that  of 
nature's  own  minstrels,  who  sing  not  to  'numbers  and  harp/ 
has  ever  come,  notwithstanding  the  many  of  her  sons  and  daugh- 
ters whose  pens  could  do  her  classic  tribute,  he  has  determined, 
despite  the  herd  of  soi-disant  critics,  to  lay  his  humble  verse 
before  the  world  in  the  shape  of  a  book" 

The  author,  who  had  real  poetic  talents,  made  the  mistake  of 
imitation.  He  was  thoroughly  saturated  with  Moore,  and  most 
of  his  verse  has  the  diction,  scenery,  and  metrical  effect  of 
Lalla  Rookh.  Here,  for  example,  are  the  opening  lines  of 
The  Fairy  of  the  Stream,  which  might  easily  be  mistaken  for 
a  passage  from  The  Fire-worshippers: — 

"  When  years  ago,  a  happy  child, 

By  birds,  and  flowers,  and  water  flowing, 
And  fragrant  shrubs  all  wildly  growing, 
And  fields  and  waving  trees  beguiled, 


120  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 


I  often  sought  this  silent  spot, 

And  loved  to  look,  and  think,  and  dream, 
And  gaze  upon  that  sweeping  stream, 
Till  home  and  friends  were  all  forgot 
In  thoughts  of  these  fair  sylvan  haunts; 

'Twas  such  a  sweet  and  soothing  place, 
That  Avarice  might  forget  her  wants, 

And  Trouble's  self  be  lulled  to  peace, 
Beneath  the  cool  and  shady  bowers, 
Enamelled  with  the  wild  young  flowers 
Of  every  name,  and  size,  and  hue, 
Which  in  these  vales  in  spring-time  grew." 

Our  poet  was  unfortunate  in  his  theme.  The  stream  referred 
to  was  the  Staunton  river,  which  flows  along  the  boundary  of 
Charlotte  County.  Nearer  its  source.,  as  in  its  more  majestic 
course  through  North  Carolina,  it  is  known  as  the  Eoanoke  river. 
But  in  no  part  of  its  course  can  the  melodious  numbers  of  our 
author  successfully  domicile  a  full-grown  fairy  on  its  banks  or 
beneath  its  waters.  Naiads  may  have  their  homes  in  the 
storied  streams  of  the  East;  but  they  flee  from  the  cold  and 
untamed  streams  of  the  West.  The  imagination  of  the  average 
sane  American  simply  refuses  to  take  The  Naiad's  Song 
seriously : — 

"From  beneath  the  green  waters,  so  clear  and  sweet, 
Where  the  fairest  and  loveliest  naiads  meet 
Each  rosy  morn  with  smiles  as  bright 
And  glowing  as  Aurora's  light, 
To  honor  their  queen,  the  fairest  of  all, 
The  loveliest  flower  in  Nou-che-mal, 

I  have  come,  I  have  come." 

The  Southern  Literary  Messenger  for  1848  contains  an 
elaborate  and  sarcastic  review  by  Foe,  or  at  least  in  Poe's  char- 
acteristic vein.  After  speaking  of  the  Staunton  river,  the 
reviewer  continues  in  summarizing  the  story  of  the  poem :  "  By 


FIRST  NATIONAL  PERIOD  121 

the  banks  of  this  stream  Mr.  Farmer  places  a  susceptible  young 
gentleman  (Allan),  who  falls  in  love,  unfortunately,  with  two 
ladies;  the  one  resident  of  the  County  (perhaps  of  Charlotte) 
bearing  the  very  pretty  and  not  uncommon  name  of  Agnes,  the 
other  a  creature  of  fairyland,  all  grace  and  gossamer,  with  a 
heart  full  of  passion  and  a  very  scanty  and  insufficient  wardrobe. 
The  jealousies  springing  up  from  this  unhappy  state  of  affairs, 
between  Pirouz,  (for  that  is  the  unchristian  appellation  of  the 
fairy,)  and  Agnes,  furnish  the  material  of  the  story/'  There 
is  of  course  a  tragic  ending,  for  Allan  cannot  be  possessed  by 
both  ladies ;  and  it  is  the  wand  of  the  fairy  that  finally  triumphs 
over  the  merely  human  attractions  of  Agnes,  who  at  last  in  her 
sorrow  and  despair  seeks  rest  beneath  the  waters  of  the  stream. 
Alceste  is  an  Eastern  tale  told  with  a  passionate  energy 
not  unworthy  of  Moore.  Under  Twilight  Hours  are  found 
several  short  poems  of  genuine  poetic  thought  and  expression; 
but— 

"  The  trail  of  Tom  Moore  is  over  them  all." 

E.  M.  P.  Eose. — The  Poetry  of  Locofocoism,  by  E.  M.  P. 
Rose,  is  a  small  volume  reflecting  a  phase  of  the  political 
history  of  our  country.  The  work  contains  some  eighteen  lyrics 
which  belong  to  the  species  now  called  campaign  poetry. 
Those  who  are  familiar  with  the  history  of  the  political  parties 
of  America  will  recognize  the  designation  "  Loco-Focos  "  as  a 
nickname  applied  to  a  part  of  the  Democratic  party  a  few 
decades  before  the  Civil  War.  The  author  of  The  Poetry  of 
Locofocoism  was  a  Whig;  and  in  two  or  three  presi- 
dential campaigns  he  served,  in  a  local  sphere,  as  the  campaign 
poet  of  his  party.  A  personal  insult  from  a  Democratic  editor 
gave  edge  to  his  political  songs. 

The  volume  in  question  contains  a  preface  from  the  pen  of 
"  A  Democratic  Friend/'  "  Some  years  ago,"  he  informs  us, 


122  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

"  its  author,  a  young  man,  was  almost  entirely  deprived  of  eye- 
sight by  the  explosion  of  percussion  caps.  Since  which  time 
he  has  been  compelled  to  abandon  business;  but  possessing  a 
strong  and  vigorous  mind,  and  a  bright  poetic  fancy,  he  has 
amused  himself  by  employing  others  to  read  to  him  on  political 
and  other  subjects.  From  the  stock  of  information  thus 
obtained,  he  has  compiled  a  number  of  small  poems,  whose  style, 
poetry,  and  excellence,  have  been  applauded  by  the  more 
intelligent  of  all  parties.  He  now  being  strongly  solicited  by 
his  friends,  has  consented  to  present  to  the  public  his  poem, 
partly  because  it  affords  him  amusement,  and  partly  because  it 
presents  an  opportunity  to  resent  a  gross  and  ungentlemanly 
insult  or  attack  upon  his  sad  misfortune  by  the  editor  of  the 
Steubenville  Union" 

The  unlucky  editor  had  accused  our  author,  whom  he  desig- 
nates "  a  poor  blind  boy,"  of  singing  a  "  horrid-gmal "  poem  at 
a  Taylor  Club  organized  by  the  Whigs.  In  reply  the  poet 
discharges  a  five-page  lyric,  the  quality  of  which  is  made  per- 
fectly clear  by  a  stanza  or  two : — 

"  He  was  a  villain  in  his  youth, 

Still  acting  the  rogue's  part — 
He  never  likes  to  hear  the  truth, 
It  shocks  his  guilty  heart. 

Desperate  indeed  must  be  their  hope, 

When  they  employ  such  trash 
As  May,  who  does  deserve  a  rope 

More  than  the  people's  cash." 

President  Polk  and  General  Cass  are  the  principal  targets 
for  our  author's  campaign  amenities.  He  condemns  the 
Mexican  War  and  the  policy  of  territorial  expansion.  He  inti- 
mates, as  did  President  Grant  at  a  later  day,  that  the  Democratic 


FIRST  NATIONAL  PERIOD  123 

party  has  a  native  and  infallible  talent  for  blundering.     In  the 
lyric  C ass's  Innumerable  Lives  we  read : — 

"  O  sweet  Democracy!  thou  art 

Consistent,  yet  so  cruel; 
In  order  to  act  well  your  part, 
You  have  to  play  the  fool. 

"  Cass  glorified  the  late  French  King,  » 

By  way  of  financiering; 
But  now   his  own   praise  he   would   sing 
By  way  of  electioneering," 

As  compared  with  Lowell's  Biglow  Papers,  which  in  part 
treat  of  the  same  themes,  The  Poetry  of  Locofocoism  follows 
behind  at  a  painful  distance. 

Mrs.  Cheeves. — The  author  of  Sketches  in  Prose  and  Verse, 
a  considerable  volume  published  in  Baltimore  in  1849,  was  Mrs. 
E.  W.  Foote  Cheeves.  She  was  born,  as  the  preface  states,  "  in 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  and  fertile  valleys  that  lie  between 
the  Blue  Eidge  and  the  Potomac."  She  early  exhibited  a  strong 
desire  for  knowledge,  and  an  indomitable  will  in  its  pursuit. 
She  voluntarily  sacrificed  social  gayeties  to  intellectual  culture. 
In  the  words  of  the  preface,  "  She  learned  that  her  happiness 
depended  not  upon  the  giddy  crowds  that  whirl  through  the 
mazes  of  fashionable  life,  and  sought  it  in  such  engagements  as 
were  better  suited  to  her  disposition  and  habits." 

After  the  death  of  her  husband  in  1844 — an  amiable  and  suc- 
cessful physician — Mrs.  Cheeves  was  defrauded,  it  seems,  out  of 
the  considerable  property  that  should  have  come  to  her.  The 
biographical  sketch,  which  was  prepared  by  a  friend,  must  tell 

1  This  was  Louis  Philippe,  of  whom  Cass  gave  a  favorable  account 
in  his  King,  Court,  and  Government  of  France  (1840). 


124  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

the  rest :  "  Her  situation  has  compelled  her  to  bring  her  literary 
acquirements  into  requisition.  She  has  published  her  Sketches 
in  Prose  and  Poetry,  with  the  hope  that  a  generous  public  will 
appreciate  the  necessity  by  which  she  is  impelled,  and  extend 
her  the  patronage  she  needs/' 

The  book  before  us  is  about  equally  divided  between  prose 
and  verse.  After  a  sojourn  of  some  years  in  Louisiana  and 
Mississippi,  the  author  returned  to  the  Northern  Neck  of  Vir- 
ginia, and  was  grieved  at  the  changes  which  she  discovered  in 
the  spirit  of  the  people.  Education  was  neglected,  and  the 
bold,  enterprising  spirit  of  the  past  was  lacking.  "  Alas  1"  she 
exclaims,  "  these  people,  though  blessed  in  many  respects,  are  far 
behind  the  spirit  of  the  age.  Europe,  Asia,  and  even  Egypt's 
benighted  plains  feel  the  electric  power  of  progressive  thought. 
And  shall  Virginia,  the  native  land  of  a  galaxy  whose  brilliant 
stars  shall  ever  gem  Time's  canopy,  be  found  slumbering  at  her 
post,  when  the  watchword  of  nations  is  onward  and  upward?" 

Mrs.  Cheeves,  it  is  stated  in  the  preface,  was  a  relative  of 
Washington ;  and  in  her  bereavement,  she  was  obliged  to  struggle 
with  poverty.  The  respect  and  sympathy  called  forth  by  these 
facts  forbid  a  criticism  of  her  poetry.  Let  us  hope,  as  did 
President  Taylor,  to  whom  the  book  by  permission  was  dedicated, 
that  the  most  sanguine  expectations  of  the  unfortunate  authoress 
were  f ullv  realized. 


CHAPTER  XI 
Poets  from  1850  to  1860 

The  decade  before  us  was  one  of  the  most  prolific  in  the 
annals  of  Virginia  poetry.  Though  it  can  hardly  be  said  that 
poetry  attained  a  higher  excellence,  there  was  an  increase  in  the 
number  of  those  who  wrote  verse.  Perhaps  no  other  single 
cause  contributed  more  to  this  result  than  the  periodical  press, 
the  columns  of  which  were  a  standing  invitation  to  persons  of  a 
poetic  turn  of  mind.  The  Southern  Literary  Messenger  in  par- 
ticular made  poetry  a  prominent  feature  of  every  number. 

John  Esten  Cooke. — Of  all  Virginia  authors  John  Esten  Cooke 
has  been  one  of  the  most  prolific  and  most  popular.  His  fame 
rests  chiefly  on  his  novels  of  Colonial  days  and  of  the  Civil  War, 
in  which  he  was  a  gallant  soldier;  but,  as  frequently  happens 
with  writers  of  fiction,  he  made  an  occasional  excursion  into  the 
realms  of  poetry.  As  will  be  seen,  his  poetic  abilities  were  not 
small,  and  it  is  to  be  regretted  that  he  did  not  leave  a  larger 
quantity  of  verse. 

He  was  born  at  Winchester,  Va.,  November  3,  1830.  While 
he  was  yet  a  boy,  his  father  moved  to  Richmond,  where  he 
studied  law  and  entered  upon  the  practice  of  his  profession. 
But  literature,  both  prose  and  verse,  divided  his  affection  with 
law,  and  he  wrote  a  series  of  Colonial  stories,  in  which  he  sum- 
moned "from  their  sleep  these  stalwart  cavaliers,  and  tender, 
graceful  dames  of  the  far  past/'  The  best  is  perhaps  The  Vir- 
ginia Comedians,  which  was  first  published  anonymously. 

At  the  outbreak  of  the  Civil  War,  he  belonged  to  the  staff  of 
Gen.  J.  E.  B.  Stuart,  and  spent  four  years  of  active  service  in 
the  field.  His  varied  and  thrilling  experiences  he  subsequently 
turned  to  account  in  a  series  of  war  stories,  of  which  Surry  of 

r  125-3 


126  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 


Eagle's  Nest  may  be  taken  as  a  type.  The  admirable  spirit  of 
these  writings  is  seen  in  the  prologue  to  Mohun :  "  Is  it  wrong 
to  remember  the  past?  I  think  of  it  without  bitterness.  God 
did  it — God  the  all-wise,  the  almighty — for  his  own  purpose. 
I  do  not  indulge  in  repinings,  or  reflect  with  rancor  upon  the 
issue  of  the  struggle.  I  prefer  recalling  the  stirring  adventures, 
the  brave  voices,  the  gallant  faces." 

In  his  poetry,  which  was  never  collected  in  a  volume,  Cooke 
understood  the  secret  of  gracefully  blending  humor  and  pathos. 
This  is  seen  in  his  "ode  (so-called)  on  a  late  melancholy 
accident  in  the  Shenandoah  Valley,"  namely,  The  Broken 
Mug":— 

"  My  mug  Is  broken,  my  heart  is  sad! 

What  woes  can  fate  still  hold  in  store! 

The  friend  I  cherished  a  thousand  days 

Is  smashed  to  pieces  on  the  floor! 

Is  shattered  and  to  Limbo  gone, 

I'll  see  my  mug  no  more! 

"  Relic  it  was  of  joyous  hours 

Whose  golden  memories  still  allure — 
When  coffee  made  of  rye  we  drank, 

And  gray  was  all  the  dress  we  wore! 
When  we  were  paid  some  cents  a  month, 
But  never  asked  for  more. 

"  In  marches  long,  by  day  and  night, 

In  raids,  hot  charges,  shocks  of  war, 
Strapped  on  the  saddle  at  my  back 
This  faithful  comrade  still  I  bore — 
This  old  companion,  true  and  tried, 
I'll  never  carry  more." 1 

JThe  whole  poem  of  twenty-two  stanzas  is  found  in  Duyckinck's 
Cyclopaedia  of  American  Literature, 


FIRST  NATIONAL  PERIOD  12? 

Something  of  the  same  pathetic  humor  is  seen  in  My  Pow- 
hatan  Pipe.1  But  nothing  he  wrote  in  verse  is  better,  perhaps, 
than  Honoria  Vane,  which  appeared  in  the  Southern  Literary 
Messenger  in  May,  1858.  Notwithstanding  its  length,  it  is 
given  in  full : — 

"  How  I  loved  Honoria  Vane 

In  the  pleasant  days  of  old! 
Now  her  image  comes  again — 

Fair  and  still  and  cold — 
Conies,  but  scarcely  brings  me  pain, 

Thinking  of  old  days. 

"  Many  careless  happy  hours 

In  the  meadows  of  Bizare, 
Did  we  linger,  gathering  flowers 
In  the  fields  and  forest  bowers — 
Coming  home  with  idle  sighs, 
Foolish  fondness  in  my  eyes, 
As  I  wove  the  Autumn  blooms — 
Faded  colors!  faint  perfumes! — 

Into  a  garland  for  her  hair! 

"Happy,  happy  days  of  yore, 
In  the  old  Virginia  hall! 
They  will  come  again  no  more; 
Long  ago  they  sailed  from  shore — 
Far  away  from  the  golden  shore — 

This  withered  flower  is  all! 
All! — and  I  chaunt  the  dirge  of  hours, 
That  danced  along,  all  wreathed  with  flowers; 
Of  cheeks  now  pale  that  once  were  bright, 
Of  faded  eyes,  once  full  of  light: 
The  light  and  joy 
Of  girl  and  boy, 
There  in  the  old  Virginia  hall. 


See  Southern  Literary  Messenger,  May,  1859. 


128  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

"  She  was  very  fair  and  cold; 

Did  she  love  me — who  can  tell? 

I  was  never  certain.    Well, 
She  lies  beneath  the  mould, 
Pale  and  cold, 
The  rosy  cheek  and  the  hair  of  gold, 

Yonder  in  the  dell. 

"  Beneath  the  mould? — 

Honoria  Vane? 
She  so  proud  of  her  wealth  and  state? 

Dead  and  cold. 

In  the  drifting  rain, 

Under  the  bank  where  the  robins  prate? 
Dead? — and  I  in  another  land — 

I  that  used  to  run  at  her  call, 

Happy,  too  happy  to  be  her  thrall, 
Paid  with  a  touch  of  her  lily  hand — 
I  alive  on  a  foreign  strand, 

Alive — and  merry  withal! 

"  So  pass  our  days.     This  withered  flower 
Has  made  me  dream  for  an  idle  hour! 
I  throw  it  away, 
And  muse  and  say, 
Has  memory  brought  me  pain? 

We  are  flitting  leaves  on  a  mighty  stream, 
The  days  of  our  life  are  a  passing  dream; 
Like  leaves  we  are  gliding  away! 
Am  I  growing  old? 
Like  a  tale  that  is  told, 
Come  back  the  voices  at  old  Bizare: 
On  the  ocean  strand, 
In  a  far-off  land, 

An  exile  dreams  of  a  woman's  hair, 
But  sheds  no  tears 
When  her  face  re-appears, 

When  he  thinks  how  she  lies  in  the  drifting  rain! 
My  heart's  very  cold! 
I  am  growing  old, 
Honoria  Vane." 


ABRAM  JOSEPH  RYAN 


FIRST  NATIONAL  PERIOD  12ft 

Mary  S.  Wliitaker. — In  the  volume  of  Poems,  written  by  Mrs. 
Mary  S.  Wliitaker  and.  published  in  1850 — a  work  of  300  pages — 
we  have  another  good  example  of  the  old-fashioned  preface, 
explaining  why  the  author  has  consented  to  the  publication  of 
her  verse.  "  Written  originally  for  her  own  gratification,  none 
of  them  would  have  appeared  in  print  save  for  the  approbation 
of  intelligent  critics,  to  whose  inspection  they  were  occasionally 
submitted,  and  the  frequent  and  urgent  solicitation  of  friends." 

The  Creole,  the  first  and  longest  poem,  is  a  romance  without 
intricacy  of  plot.  It  is  intended  to  be  chiefly  descriptive  of 
scenery.  Its  metre  is  irregular,  in  justification  of  which  the 
authoress  refers  to  the  example  of  Byron  and  Scott. 

A  prevailing  tone  of  sadness  characterizes  the  poems.  For 
this  characteristic  the  author  offers  no  apology  but  her  tempera- 
ment and  circumstances.  There  are  times  when  we  all  are  op- 
pressed with  a  sense  of  the  tragedy  of  life,  and  when  we  feel 
unequal  to  the  tasks  and  burdens  laid  upon  us.  But  this  atti- 
tude may  easily  become  weak  and  morbid;  and  hence  a  poem 
like  The  Last  Home,  however  expressive  of  occasional  moods, 
can  hardly  be  regarded  as  healthful  and  inspiring : — 

"  O  when  will  earth's  hopes  no  longer  betray, 
And  fade  like  the  visions  of  morning  away? 

When  the  dreamer  lies  cold 

In  the  dark,  dismal  mould, 
Forever  shut  out  from  sunshine  and  day." 

Without  rising  much  above  mediocrity,  our  author's  poetry  is 
worthy  of  respect.  It  contains  no  gems,  but  it  reflects  no  dis- 
credit. She  had  an  ideal  in  her  craftsmanship,  and  this  ideal 
she  conformed  to  with  success.  She  "  endeavored  to  avoid  the 
obscurity  and  affectation  which  characterize  the  style  of  our 
modern  transcendental  bards,"  she  says,  "and  her  verse  will 
receive  but  little  favor  at  the  hands  of  those  who  are  enamored 
p.  of  Va.— 9 


130  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

of  the  peculiarities  of  that  school  of  poets.  She  has  aimed  only 
to  express  her  thoughts  and  feelings  in  a  clear,  simple,  and 
natural  style,  and  if  she  fail  to  make  herself  understood  and 
felt  by  others,  it  will  not,  she  flatters  herself,  be  owing  to  a 
blamable  inattention  to  the  best  standards  of  poetry  in  the 
English  language,  which  she  has  made  a  study  from  her  early 
years." 

Miss  Smiley. — The  Poems  ly  Matilda,  written  by  Miss 
Matilda  C.  Smiley,  afterwards  Mrs.  Edwards  of  Loudoun,  has 
a  unique  history.  The  poems  were  composed  by  Miss  Smiley 
while  she  was  at  school,  and  were  published  by  a  friend,  the 
Rev.  George  W.  Nolley,  who  had  confidence  in  their  merit,  in 
order  to  raise  money  to  enable  the  young  authoress  to  complete 
her  education.  The  ministers  of  the  Virginia  Conference  of  the 
Methodist  Church  subscribed  for  fifteen  hundred  copies  before 
the  book  was  put  to  press — a  fact  that  shows  at  once,  perhaps, 
the  strength  of  their  faith  and  the  breadth  of  their  liberality. 

Miss  Smiley  was  a  native  of  Nelson  County,  Va.,  and  having 
been  left  an  orphan  by  the  death  of  her  father,  she  was  deprived 
of  early  educational  advantages.  But  the  poetic  baptism  was 
upon  her,  and  she  gave  herself  to  the  cultivation  of  the  Muses, 
"  sometimes  through  the  medium  of  books,  but  more  particularly 
in  the  works  of  nature ;  in  the  waters  of  a  beautiful  river  *  that 
washes  the  base  of  her  native  hill,  in  the  wild  mountain  scenery 
that  rises  in  magnificence  from  the  opposite  shore,  and  in  the 
romantic  hills  and  dales  that  surround  it  in  every  direction." 

The  themes  of  the  book  are  drawn  from  nature  and  from  the 
incidents  of  ordinary  life.  The  Phases  of  a  Woman's  Life 
describes  the  well-rounded  tragedy  from  childhood  to  the  grave. 
The  Peaks  of  Otter  worthily  celebrates  those  towering  summits. 

1  Tye  river  in  Nelson  County. 


FIRST  NATIONAL  PERIOD  131 

The  realm  of  religion  is  frequently  touched  upon,  as  in  A  Hope 
in  Heaven,  The  Mercy-Seat,  and  Thoughts  on  Immortality. 
But  it  is  the  beauty  and  grandeur  of  nature  that  inspire  most 
of  the  songs. 

The  first  poem  of  the  book,  and  one  of  the  best,  is  entitled 
Poetry.  Though  it  repeats  a  sentiment  of  Wordsworth's,  it  is 
probably  the  expression  of  the  author's  own  experience: — 

"  O !  there  is  more  of  poetry 

In  the  sweet  hymn  of  birds, 
Than  all  that  the  poets  could  ever  breathe 

In  all  the  chime  of  words; 
More  music  in  one  thrilling  note, 
Soft-gushing  from  a  mock-bird's  throat, 
Than   ever   has   flowed   from   minstrel's   lyre, 
However  warmed  with  hallowed  fire. 

"  There  is  a  world  of  poetry 

In  flowers  and  trees  and  rills; 
And  stanzas  of  immortal  song 

Are  echoed  through  the  hills; 
The  winds  and  waves,  the  bending  grass 
That  trembles  where  the  waters  pass; 
The  stars  that  twinkled  in  the  sky 
Are  rich  with  heaven-born  minstrelsy." 

The  Storm-King  exhibits  Miss  Smiley's  descriptive  powers  in 
their  greatest  vigor.  The  Storm-King  has  met  a  gallant  ship 
freighted  with  life  and  joy: — 

"  But  I  swung  them  up  on  giant  waves, 

Then  down  in  the  surging  sea, 
And  I  clapped  my  hands  at  their  horrid  shrieks, 

And  laughed  their  fear  to  see; 
Down,  down,  still  down  in  the  boiling  sea 

That  ship  and  its  crew  I  tossed, 
Till  none  were  left  of  its  noble  band, 

To  mourn  o'er  companions  lost," 


132  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

Sing  Again  That  Simple  Strain  illustrates  the  wonderful 
power  resident  in  a  long  vanished  but  resuscitated  melody: — 

"  Then   touch   those    thrilling   notes   again, 

'Tis  not   an   idle   prayer; 
You  do  not  know  how  many  bright, 

Sweet  memories  are  there; 
You  do  not  know  how  much  of  joy 

Dwells  in  that  simple  strain; 
You  do  not  know  how  dear  it  is — 

O  sing  that  song  again!" 

It  will  be  recognized  that  these  poems  were  at  least  full  of 
promise.  It  is  to  be  regretted  that  no  subsequent  volume  of 
deeper,  richer  melody  ever  came  from  the  same  pen  to  ennoble 
Virginia  minstrelsy. 

C.  Toler  Wolfe.— C.  Toler  Wolfe  was  born  at  Stephens  City 
about  1810.  Without  more  than  an  elementary  education,  he 
became  a  roving  character — an  eccentric  sort  of  genius  who  could 
not  long  remain  satisfied  at  one  place.  He  was  a  printer  by 
trade,  but  varied  its  irregular  pursuit  by  acting  with  theatrical 
troupes.  He  was  brilliant  and  versatile;  and  though  he  some- 
times turned  his  thoughts  to  the  deeper  aspects  of  life,  he  was 
mostly  content  to  laugh  at  its  follies  and  satirize  its  vanities. 
He  did  not  always,  heed  his  own  warning  against  "imbibing 
potations  deep;"  but,  like  Walter  Scott,  "whether  drunk  or 
sober,  he  was  aye  the  gentleman." 

In  1852  he  published  at  Winchester,  which  he  regarded  as  his 
home,  a  little  volume  entitled  A  Boole  of  Odds  and  Ends.  The 
work,  consisting  of  mingled  poetry  and  prose,  answers  to  its 
title.  It  gives  us  a  clear  conception  of  the  author;  and,  as 
many  of  the  pieces  have  their  place  of  composition  indicated,  it 
enables  us  to  follow  him  in  his  wanderings  from  New  York  to 
the  West  Indies.  He  did  not  take  authorship  too  seriously,  and 


FIRST  NATIONAL  PERIOD  133 

wrote  his  book,  as  he  tells  us  in  a  whimsical  poetic  preface,  for 
readers — 

"Who  tire  of  old,  and  wish  for  something  new, 
To  pass  a  listless  hour  or  so  away." 

He  did  not  write  for  critics — 

"  Who  tear  in  bits  what  other  men  indite, 
And  half  the  time  can't  tell  the  wrong  from  right." 

His  aim  was  not  so  much  to  make  the  world  better,  as  to  make 
it  happier : — 

"  To  change  the  grave  to  gay — the  melancholic 
Turn  from  their  mopish  moods  to  those  of  frolic, 
And  so  grow  fat,  instead  of  useless  whinings 
At  what  they  can't  avoid,  and  vain  repinings 
O'er  ills  that  daily  hem  them  around  about, 
At  which  'tis  cheaper  far  to  laugh  than  pout, 
Is  my  sincere  intent." 

Our  author  served  in  the  Mexican  War — let  us  hope — as  a 
gallant  soldier.  He  remained  unmarried ;  and  in  his  first  poem 
The  Bachelor,  he  attempts,  with  much  misogyny,  to  justify  his 
celibacy.  His  experience  with  the  opposite  sex  must  have  been 
singularly  unhappy ;  for  he  declares — 

"  That  most   of  womankind  are  sheer   deceit," 

and  that 

"Woman  has  always  proved  a  wo-to-man!" 

The  Stormy  Petrel,  written  in  the  West  Indies,  is  a  serious 
poem  throughout,  and  not  destitute  of  excellence,  as  may  be 
seen  from  a  single  stanza: — 


134  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

"  Over  the  sea!  over  the  sea! 
Where  the  wild  waves  sing  the  funeral  dirge 
Of  ships  that  went  down  in  the  foaming  surge, 

The  petrel  pursueth  her  path 
To  her  beetling  nest  on  the  surf-lashed  shore, 
Where  she  reareth  her  young  in  the  ocean's  roar, 

Secure  from  the  tempest's  wrath." 

This  eccentric  genius,  who  preferred  to  laugh  at  the  foolish 
world,  had  his  serious  moments  of  reflection.  He  could  indite 
a  reverent  Address  to  the  Deity,  and  moralize  on  the  Passage  of 
Time;  and  occasionally,  as  with  more  serious  persons,  his 
thoughts  fondly  turned  to  the  scenes  of  childhood : — 

"  You  remember  the  dear  old  mill,  friend  Bob, 

It  was  painted  a  blood-red  hue, 
The  pump,  and  the  dairy,  and  pigeon-house, 

And  the  race  where  the  willows  grew? 
But  many  a  weary  year  has  passed, 

And  many  a  change  since  then; 
We  were  both  of  us  wayward  little  boys, 

And  now  we  are  care-worn  men." 

Eestless,  wandering,  dissipated,  yet  the  heart  of  a  man  beat  in 
our  author's  bosom,  and  his  soul  at  times  responded  to  the  deeper 
truths  of  life. 

Mrs.  Cabell. — An  Odd  Volume  of  Facts  and  Fiction  was  pub- 
lished by  Mrs.  Julia  Mayo  Cabell  in  1852.  It  is  another  work — 
there  have  been  too  many  of  them  in  Virginia — that  appealed  to 
the  public,  not  on  the  ground  of  its  literary  interest  or  excellence, 
but  in  view  of  some  scheme  of  practical  benevolence.  In  strict 
justice  such  works  ought  to  find  a  place  in  the  history  of  benevo- 
lent enterprises  rather  than  in  the  history  of  literature.  An 
examination  of  these  books  is  apt  to  reveal  the  fact  that,  as  a 
rule,  they  have  only  a  distant  relation  to  literature. 


FIRST  NATIONAL  PERIOD  135 

The  benevolent  and  commendable  purpose  of  the  author  is 
thus  explained :  A  workhouse  being  an  acknowledged  necessity 
in  Richmond,  "  1  have  resolved  (perhaps  not  wisely  but  certainly 
with  good  intent)  to  attempt  digging  its  foundation  by  means 
of  this  home-spun  volume — the  products  of  the  sale  of  which, 
after  paying  the  costs  of  publication,  will  be  appropriated  to 
that  purpose;  and  I  doubt  not  that  the  building  in  question 
being  thus  begun,  other  funds  will  be  contributed  to  carry  up 
its  superstructure/' 

The  greater  part  of  the  volume  is  prose.  Nearly  half  of  it  is 
taken  up  with  letters  of  travel  abroad,  which  were  first  published 
in  the  Southern  Literary  Messenger,  and  may  still  be  read  with 
interest.  To  keen  observation  Mrs.  Cabell  added  the  power  of 
lively  description.  Most  of  the  poetry,  consisting  of  ballads, 
elegies,  enigmas,  and  epigrams,  is  of  the  average  quality  of  the 
time.  The  numerous  brief  elegies  on  the  death  of  friends  are 
filled  with  the  usual  common  metre  consolations.  One  looks 
in  vain  for  that  lyric  passion  in  which — 

"  The  poet's  eye,  in  a  fine  frenzy  rolling, 
Doth  glance  from  heaven  to  earth,  from  earth  lo  heaven; 
And  as  imagination  bodies  forth 
The  forms  of  things  unknown,  the  poet's  pen 
Turns  them  to  shapes,  and  gives  to  airy  nothing 
A  local  habitation  and  a  name." 

James  Avis  Bartley. — James  Avis  Bartley  was  born  in  Louisa 
County,  Va.,  August  2,  1830.  He  was  noted  in  childhood  for 
his  aptitude  in  study,  and  it  is  said  that  before  the  completion 
of  his  twelfth  year  he  had  read  the  Aeneid.  He  entered  Emory 
and  Henry  College  in  the  fall  of  1849,  where  three  years  later 
he  took  his  degree.  In  1855  he  attended  the  University  of 
Virginia,  and  after  the  war,  in  186S-'69,  he  was  a  teacher  o| 
English  in  the  Baltimore  Female  College. 


136  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

In  1855  he  published  a  volume  entitled  Lays  of  Ancient  Vir- 
ginia and  Other  Poems.  In  the  preface  he  displays  a  valorous 
attitude  toward  his  critics.  While  hoping  for  generous  treat- 
ment, he  does  not  intend  to  allow  those  vultures  of  literature  to 
prey  upon  him  with  impunity!  "Enchanted  myself/'  he 
frankly  says,  "the  desire  to  enchant  others  seized  me.  The 
'  Poet's  Enchanted  Life '  is  a  gallery  of  poetic  pictures  of 
nature.  Most  of  the  minor  and  miscellaneous  pieces  breathe  the 
spirit  of  virtuous  affection.  If  critics  censure  me  unjustly  or 
intemperately,  I  will  fight  them — but  I  hope  to  find  them,  as 
well  as  you,  dear  Public,  very  kind  friends  of  a  loving  author." 

This  volume  contains  a  pleasing  variety  of  verse,  but  the 
sentimental,  perhaps,  predominates.  Oh,  Blue-Eyed  Maid,  I 
Sigh  for  Thee,  though  it  seems  an  echo  of  Burns,  is  fairly 
representative  of  the  poet's  skill  and  grace : — 

"  Oh,  blue-eyed  maid,  I  sigh  for  thee 

At  gentle  twilight's  close, 
When  music  dies  upon  the  lea, 

And  dew-drops  wet  the  rose. 
I  look  on  tranquil  nature  round, 

And  list  to  music's  fall, 
And  think  but  half  their  charms  are   found, 

Since  thou  art  far  from  all."    „- 

"  Oh,  blue-eyed  maid,  the  gorgeous  beams 

That  light  a  monarch's  hall, 
The  glittering  wealth  of  golden  streams, 

To  me  were  darkness  all, 
Unless  thy  light  of  loveliness 

Adorned  the  regal  scene, 
And  thou  bedecked  in  royal  dress 

Shouldst  reign  my  loving  queen." 

In  1882  Professor  Bartley  published  a  second  volume  of 
Poems.  The  opening  poem  celebrates  My  Home  and  breathes 


FIRST  NATIONAL  PERIOD  137 

the  passionate  fondness  which  the  true  Virginian  has  always 
manifested  for  his  native  State: — 

"  Ah!  though  I  wander  borne  by  mystic  fate 
Through  other  lands,  how  oft  shall  memory  paint 
The  dearer  scenes  of  my  Virginia  home! 
I'll  hope,  at  length  my  hapless  wandering  o'er, 
To  come  and  yield  my  breath  back  gently  here, 
To  the  wild  breeze  that  breathes  its  low  sweet  hymn 
Among  the  oak-tree  tops  to-day,  and  mix 
My  mouldering  form  with  this  beloved  earth." 

The  poems,  which  consist  of  brief  lyrics,  are  chiefly  senti- 
mental and  patriotic.  The  poet  does  not  mock  at  domestic  life ; 
and  in  Wedlock  and  Wedded  Love  at  Home  he  finds — 

"The   image  lost   of   Heaven." 

Many  features  of  the  Virginia  landscape  appeal  to  his  sensi- 
bilities; and  so  we  find  Blue  Virginia  Mountains,  The  James 
River,  Hills  of  Orange,  and  Rapid  Anna.  But  he  has  written 
nothing  better  than  The  Old  House,  in  which  he  expresses  what 
all  of  us  have  felt  in  a  mystical  way  at  the  sight  of  a  ruined 
dwelling.  It  consists  of  two  stanzas  as  follows : — 

"  The  house  is  old,  its  guests  are  gone, 

Who  made  its  former  cheer: 
Hard  by  the  road  it  lingers  on, 

But  no  one  dwelleth  here. 
The  beggar  has  forgot  its  door, 

Though  now  it  always  stands 
And  seems  to  ask  a  guest  once  more, 

With  open  outstretched  hands. 


"  The  moss-grown  walls  to  ruin  fall 

In  sad  and  sure  decay — 
And  ere  the  spring's  gay  festival 
It  will  have  passed  away. 


138  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

My  heart  is  sinking  with  it  there, 

And  clings  about  its  walls, 
For  worn  at  length  by  time  and  care, 

Itself  to  ruin  falls." 

In  forming  our  estimate  of  Mr.  Bartley's  poetry  we  may  safely 
agree  with  the  critic  to  whom  our  author  wrote  in  A  Letter  of 
Reply — 

"  You  own  my  verse  is  good,  yet  not  so  good 
As  gods  will  hear  in  their  sublime  abode." 

B.  W.  Davis. — Little  more  need  be  said  of  Poetry  on  Several 
Subjects  for  the  People,  written  by  B.  W.  Davis  and  published 
in  Kichmond  in  1855,  than  is  contained  in  the  author's  address 
to  the  public :  "  It  is  hoped  that  these  unpretending  little 
poems  will  be  favorably  received  by  the  highly  esteemed  com- 
munity, among  whom  the  author,  as  an  humble  teacher  of  babes, 
has  labored  long  and  faithfully  for  small  emolument.  If  they 
should  afford  a  short  entertainment  to  the  reader,  and  excite 
some  emotions  of  good  influence,  they  will  have  accomplished 
their  mission ;  and  the  writer's  best  reward  will  be  the  conscious- 
ness of  good  design  and  the  gratification  of  its  accomplishment." 

The  titles  of  the  five  poems  in  this  pamphlet  are  The  Babe  of 
California,  Mary  at  the  Grave  of  Jesus,  Mildred  in  Heaven, 
Faith,  Hope  and  Charity,  and  One  Fold  and  One  Shepherd — all 
proper  in  sentiment  and  adorned  with  correct  rhymes. 

James  Fitz. — Mr.  Fitz,  of  Albemarle  County,  Va.,  is  the  author 
of  a  Gallery  of  Poetic  Pictures,  which,  as  stated  on  the  title 
page,  comprises  "  true  portraits  and  fancy  sketches,  interspersed 
with  humorous,  moral,  and  solemn  pieces,  together  with  historic, 
patriotic,  and  sentimental  poems,  and  memories  of  the  past/' 
It  was  published  in  Eichmond  in  1857.  The  scope  of  the  work, 
it  will  be  noticed,  was  sufficiently  comprehensive;  and  had  the 


FIRST  NATIONAL  PERIOD  139 

execution  equaled  the  plan,  the  work  might  have  been  a  real 
addition  to  Virginia  verse. 

The  verse  was  written,  as  the  preface  tells  us,  in  the  brief  and 
disconnected  intervals  between  "  the  arduous  and  imperious 
duties  of  business  occupations,"  which  monopolized  the  greater 
part  of  his  time.  "Laboring  under  incessant  occupation  and 
bereft  of  the  favors  of  fortune,  f  the  lucid  moments '  that  could 
be  devoted  to  poesy  were  few  and  far  between — yet  were  they 
pleasurable ;  and  viewed  as  sunny  spots  smiling  in  the  blue  azure 
of  a  clouded  sky/' 

These  statements  the  author  makes  by  way  of  apology;  for, 
under  the  circumstances,  he  says,  "  skillful  arrangement  and 
polished  execution  are  things  not  reasonably  to  be  expected." 
He  offers  his  verse  "to  an  indulgent  public,  with  unaffected 
hesitation  and  diffidence;  and  this  is  not  said  for  the  purpose 
of  '  deprecating  the  censures  of  critics  by  profession ;  but  merely 
to  bespeak  the  favor  and  candor  of  that  larger  portion  of  readers 
who  are  willing  to  be  pleased  with  the  best  efforts  that  could  be 
expected  under  the  circumstances/  " 

"  Brief  and  to  the  point,"  the  author  tells  us,  "  has  ever  been 
his  motto;"  but  in  this  matter,  as  often  happens  in  life,  his 
principle  is  better  than  his  practice.  The  fact  is  that  few 
writers  of  verse  in  his  day  understood  the  value  of  selection 
and  self-restraint.  These  classic  qualities  are  almost  always 
lacking.  In  the  volume  under  consideration  fancy  and  feeling 
are  confessedly  subordinated  to  "truth  of  incident  and  narra- 
tive " — a  method  that  inevitably  imparts  a  prosy  quality  to  the 
verse. 

In  the  little  poem  entitled  Sportsmen,  Spare  the  Small  Birds^ 
our  author  makes  an  appeal  far  more  sage  and  humane  than 
poetical  or  grammatical: — 


140  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

"  The  sparrow,  blue-bird,  and  the  wren, 

Each  have  a  part  to  them  assigned: 
The  farmer  knows  how  useful  they, 

And  many  others  of  their  kind, 
Who  chase   the  insects  through  the  air, 

Or  find  them  on  the  furrowed  ground, 
And  with  their  little  beaks  destroy 

What  roving  travelers  are  found." 

One  stanza  more  from  Recollections  of  Pleasant  Valley,  where 
the  author  lived,  will  suffice;  it  is  equal  to  anything  else  in  the 
book,  though  it  will  be  observed  that  he  adheres  strictly  to  the 
facts.  It  describes  a  machine  shop  with  which  he  was  familiar 
in  his  boyhood : —  . 

"  The  water-wheel  is  still  erect, 

But  all  the  wheels  are  still; 
And  silence  reigns  forever  more 

In  that  deserted  mill. 
No  more  the  carving  gouge  is  plied 

To  shape  the  whirling  wood; 
Nor  do  we  hear  the  buzzing  saw 

That  in  the  corner  stood." 

Most  of  us  have  such  memories,  and  by  a  magic  touch  time 
somehow  glorifies  them  with  a  tender  pathos. 

Charles  Carter  Lee. — Charles  Carter  Lee  is  the  author  of 
Virginia  Georgics,  Written  for  the  Hole  and  Corner  Club  of 
Powhatan,  and  published  in  Richmond  in  1858.  These  poems, 
as  the  name  indicates,  are  devoted  to  agriculture.  They  may  be 
lacking  in  the  dignity  of  Virgil,  but  with  mingled  humor  and 
sense  they  convey  much  useful  advice  about  farming.  The 
author  was  a  scholar  as  well  as  farmer;  and  though  written 
fifty  years  ago,  the  Georgics  might  still  be  read  with  interest 
and  profit.  In  spite  of  the  advance  of  science  and  the  spread 
of  intelligence,  there  are  still,  it  seems,  some  farmers  in  Vir- 


FIRST  NATIONAL  PERIOD  141 

ginia  who,  by  a  blind  persistence  of  hope,  expect  miracles  from 
impoverished  land. 

The  volume  under  consideration  contains  four  Georgics  of 
some  eight  hundred  lines  each.  The  general  style  and  spirit 
may  be  judged  from  the  opening  lines : — 

"  In  things  the  same  the  greatest  difference  seen 
Is  that  perhaps  between  the  fat  and  lean : 
None  know  the  steed  his  master  rode  in  pride, 
In  the  poor  jade  that  on  the  common  died; 
And  e'en  the  face  of  beauty,  though  it  rise 
Above  decay  in  soul-revealing  eyes — 
Yet  the  pale  cheek  and  lustre-lacking  skin 
Betray  the  difference  between  plump  and  thin. 
But  of  all  things,  what  chiefly  lose  their  charms, 
As  they  grow  poor  and  wasted,  are  our  farms." 

To  encourage  the  agricultural  community  to  keep  up  the 
fertility  of  the  soil  is  the  aim  of  the  poet's  verse;  and  to  this 
end  he  lays  down  many  rules,  both  negative  and  positive,  which 
are  worth  remembering  and  applying.  One  negative  rule — 

"  Is,  never  "buy  what  you  can  raise  at  home." 

But  our  author  places  greatest  emphasis  on  what  is  positive : — 

"  Now  for  a  positive  rule — have  sense  and  nerve 
Ne'er  from  this  one  when,  while  you  can,  to  swerve: 
Reduce  the  bulk  of  what  from  your  plantation 
You  sell,  to  cost  the  least  for  transportation', 
Thus  all  the  offal  to  your  land  you'll  give, 
And  while  you  live  enable  that  to  live." 

After  due  elaboration  and  convincing  illustration,  he  con- 
tinues : — 

"  Another  positive  rule,  alike  of  sense, 
And  what  is  better  still,  benevolence, 
(For  in  delightful  harmony  are  joined 
All  the  best  promptings  of  the  heart  and  mind,) 


142  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

Is  to  keep  fat,  and  to  t7ie  utmost  fed, 

Whatever  on  your  farm,  is  worked  or  bred. 

There  is  no  maxim  in  economy's  store 

Than  this  more  precious — Nothing  pays  that's  poor." 

Like  the  true  Virginian  from  the  eastern  part  of  the  State, 
Mr.  Lee  had  a  genuine  fondness  for  the  horse  and  a  chivalrous 
appreciation  of  his  noble  qualities — 

"Who  to  our  wishes   yields   unbounded   sway, 
And  often  rather  dies  than  disobey." 

The  sight  of  an  ill-fed  horse  stirred  his  sympathies : — 

"  Behold  him  now  upon  our  wasted  lands, 
How  high  in  bone,  how  low  in  flesh  he  stands! 
Sore-backed  perhaps,  his  lofty  pride  appalled, 
His  breast  with  collar,  rump  with  breech-bands  galled, 
With  scarce  of  his  original  self  one  trace, 
The  measure  of  gratitude  in  the  human  race. 

Yet  such  a  horse  appropriately  stands 

A  wasted  monument  of  wasted  lands; 

Galled  like  the  hills,  poor  as  the  valleys  by  him, 

And  joy  to  naught  but  buzzards  as  they  eye  him." 

Whether  the  Georgics  improved  the  farming  of  Powhatan  and 
other  parts  of  the  State,  there  is  no  means  of  knowing ;  but  our 
poet  a  half  century  ago,  with  many  a  touch  of  humor,  sang  what 
our  Commissioner  of  Agriculture  is  now  telling  the  people  in 
prose. 

John  Lewis. — Flowers  and  Weeds  of  the  Old  Dominion  is  a 
collection  of  poems  made  by  John  Lewis  and  published  in  1859. 
It  contains  poems  by  four  different  writers  of  Virginia.  The 
title  given  to  the  first  series  is  The  Bouquet,  which  was  written 
by  Mrs.  Jean  Wood  and  is  reviewed  elsewhere  in  this  volume. 


FIRST  NATIONAL  PERIOD  143 

The  second  series  is  called  The  Wreath,  "  because  it  was  woven 
by  the  delicate  fingers  of  a  girl/'  the  grand-niece  of  Mrs.  Wood. 
It  is  considered  under  the  name  of  Mrs.  Littleford.  The  third 
series  was  written  by  John  Moncure  Lewis,  the  son  of  the  com- 
piler, and  is  called  The  Nosegay.  The  last  series  was  written  by 
John  Lewis,  and  includes  the  productions  scattered  along  between 
the  years  1804  and  1855. 

The  compiler's  object  was  to  illustrate  the  intellectual  life  of 
the  people.  "  The  Bill  of  Eights,"  he  says,  "  the  Constitution, 
and  the  law  establishing  religious  freedom  give  certain  evidence 
of  the  degree  of  civilization  in  Virginia,  so  far  as  the  outward 
life  is  concerned.  The  inward  life  is  indicated  by  the  effusions 
of  the  heart,  and  the  works  of  the  imagination ;  very  few  of  these 
have  been  presented  to  the  public.  The  reason  of  this  may  be 
inferred  from  the  condition  and  character  of  the  educated  por- 
tion of  her  population.  .  .  .  Writing  was  not  a  trade,  nor 
literature  a  profession  then,  when  these  poems  were  written; 
they  were  the  occasional  outpourings  of  the  spirit  amid  the  cares 
and  trials  of  life  devoted  to  domestic  and  social  duties/5 

The  compiler  did  not  publish  all  the  Virginia  poems  in  his 
possession.  It  seems,  contrary  to  what  might  have  been 
expected,  that  permission  was  withheld.  "Had  I  permission," 
he  says,  "  to  publish  others  in  my  possession  by  Virginians,  this 
collection  would  not  only  have  been  greatly  enlarged  but  much 
improved.  Mauvaise  honte  withholds  from  public  view  many 
gems  that  lie  concealed  in  the  cabinets  of  the  Old  Dominion. 
They  would  bear  comparison  with  the  best  productions  of 
American  poets  which  have  been  published." 

The  poet-compiler  was  aware  that  some  of  the  poems  were  not 
of  high  quality.  They  were  weeds  rather  than  flowers.  "But 
weeds,  not  less  than  flowers,"  he  says,  "  to  the  philosophic  mind, 
are  productions  indicating  conditions  of  that  portion  of  the 
earth's  surface  on  which  they  grew.  So  the  productions  of  the 


144  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

human  mind,  be  they  classed  with  weeds  or  flowers,  are  indica- 
tions not  to  be  disregarded  in  forming  an  estimate  of  the  age 
and  the  people  giving  birth  to  them." 

A  brief  extract  or  two  must  suffice  to  give  an  idea  of  our 
author's  manner.  The  following  lines  are  paraphrased  from 
Cato— 

"  When  all  Is  lost,  remember  to  preserve 

Your  honor  spotless,  and  your  conscience  clear; 
From  their  safe  counsels  never,  never  swerve, 
And  thou  art  rich  in  all  that's  worth  our  care." 

In  A  Wish,  written  in  mild  Scottish  brogue,  the  author's  ideal 
of  young  womanhood  is  expressed : — 

"  Give  me  the  lass  unspoilt  by  praise, 

Whose  graceful  mien  and  bonnie  looks 
Impress  my  heart,  inspire  my  lays, 

Who  yet  has  read  no  blethering  books. 

"  Her  beauty  must  not  dazzling  shine, 
Sae  bright  it  blinds  hersel'  and  me, 
A  mind  containing  fire  divine, 

Aft  sparkling  from  her  hazel  ee." 

Many  of  the  poems  are  slightly  personal  ones,  while  others, 
as  The  River  Potomac,  contain  reminiscences  of  the  author's 
Virginia  home.  There  are  no  flights  that  scale  the  mountain 
summits  of  song. 

John  Moncnre  Lewis. — John  Moncure  Lewis  was  the  author 
of  The  Nosegay  in  the  collection  of  poems  just  discussed.  He 
died  at  the  age  of  twenty-five,  "  leaving  the  odor  of  his  name 
and  the  memory  of  his  talents  and  his  virtues."  His  best  writ- 
ings— descriptions  of  scenery  and  delineations  of  character — are 
in  prose.  The  poems  of  The  Nosegay,  as  already  stated,  were 
collected  by  his  father ;  and  the  death  of  the  young  man  occurred 


FIRST  NATIONAL  PERIOD  145 

while  the  volume  was  passing  through  the  press.  An  acquaint- 
ance pays  him  the  tribute  of  calling  him  "  a  poet  without  pre- 
tension—without pedantry,  a  polished  prose-writer — without 
guile,  a  social  companion — without  deceit,  a  firm  and  steadfast 
friend." 

With  this  list  of  virtues  to  his  credit,  it  really  matters  very 
little  to  say  that  he  lacked  the  gifts  of  high  poetic  inspiration. 
He  knew  this  himself,  and  attempted  nothing  more  than  simple 
rhymes,  such  as  Musings  at  twilight,  words  of  condolence  To  a 
Lady  on  the  Death  of  her  Infant,  or  a  benediction  To  All  the 
Girls  that  have  ever  been,  are,  or  ever  will  be,  about  Frankfort, 
Kentucky. 

A  few  stanzas  from  Autumn  will  show  our  author  at  his 
best : — 

"  Old  Autumn  is  coming  to  greet  us  now, 

In  his  garb  of  russet  brown; 
He  sends  his  breeze  through  the  forest  trees, 
And  shakes  the  ripe  nuts  down. 

"  He  binds  the  sheaves  and  scatters  the  leaves 

Of  the  forest  far  and  wide, 
And  makes  the  crop  of  the  ripe  fruit  drop 
From  the  orchard  in  its  pride. 

"  He  lures  the  stag  to  the  mountain  crag 

Prom  his  wonted  copse  and  lair, 
For  he  loves  to  leap  o'er  rocky  steep, 
As  he  snuffeth  the  frosty  air." 

Susan  Archer  Talley. — Miss  Talley,  afterwards  Mrs.  Weiss, 
was  born  in  Hanover  County,  Va.,  in  1835.  In  her  childhood 
her  father  moved  to  Eichmond,  where  her  education  was  inter- 
rupted by  an  incurable  attack  of  deafness.  But  she  had  a  strong 
innate  thirst  for  knowledge ;  and  thrown  upon  her  own  resources, 
she  became  a  great  reader,  and  attained  a  wide  range  of 

P.  of  Va.— 10 


146  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

knowledge.  Her  poetic  gifts  were  developed,  not  only  by  a 
close  communion  with  nature,  but  also  by  a  careful  study  of  the 
best  English  masters.  Tennyson  was  evidently  a  favorite  poet, 
and  she  acquired  something  of  his  limpid  versification  and  fine 
artistic  quality.  Sometimes  the  resemblance  is  disagreeably 
obstrusive,  as  in  the  weird  tale  of  Ennerslie : — 

"Fading  are  the  summer  leaves, 
The  fields  are  rich  with  golden  sheaves; 
Her  silken  scarf  the  lady  weaves 

Wearily — wearily ; 

Her  cheek  hath  lost  its  summer  bloom, 
Her  lovely  eyes  are  full  of  gloom; 
She  weaveth  at  her  fairy  loom, 

And  looketh  down  to  Ennerslie." 

In  1859  Miss  Talley  published  a  volume  of  Poems,  which 
exhibits  a  wide  and  elevated  range  of  subjects.  She  sings,  not 
only  of  the  charms  of  The  Autumn  Time,  but  also  of  the  ele- 
ments of  Genius  and  the  visions  of  The  Land  of  Dreams.  Her 
work  is  characterized  by  a  poetic  feeling  and  artistic  expression, 
which  give  her  volume  distinction  among  the  productions  of 
the  time. 

In  Looks  and  Words  she  distinguishes  between  professions 
and  realit)'',  as  the  latter  is  revealed  in  the  eyes : — 

"  For  eyes  reveal  the  mysteries 

That  words  refuse  to  tell; 
And  truth  lies  hidden  in  their  depths, 
As  in  a  silent  well. 

"  But  when  the  soul  is  deeply  stirred, 

And  eyes  encounter  eyes, 
The  mystic  veil  is  rent  away, 
And  all  before  us  lies. 


FIRST  NATIONAL  PERIOD  147 

"  Thus  heart  to  heart,  and  soul  to  soul, 

Their  mysteries  unfold; 
What  thousand  words  might  never  tell, 
A  single  glance  hath  told." 

In  a  Summer  Noon  Day  Dream,  there  are  fine  descriptive 
touches  united  with  fitting  harmony: — 

"  Within  my  open  window  floats 

A  slumbrous  breath  of  roses, 
And  in  the  softly  shaded  room 

Silence  itself  reposes; 
And  liquid  lusters  on  the  wall 

Cool,  rippling  waves  resemble, 
As  to  and  fro,  with  motion  slow, 

The  leafy  shadows  tremble. 

"  A  sense  of  silence  and  repose, 

Of  slow  and  tranquil  motion; 
A  murmur  as  of  sleeping  winds 

Upon  a  sleeping  ocean; 
And  softly  o'er  my  senses  steals 

A  luxury  Elysian, 
And  all  delights  of  drowsy  thought 

Are  mingled  in  my  vision." 

But  in  no  other  of  her  poems,  perhaps,  is  the  liquid  flow  of 
her  verse  better  illustrated  than  in  Airley,  which,  notwithstand- 
ing its  length,  is  inserted  in  full : — 

"  Oh,  greenly  grow  the  alder  boughs 

Upon  the  banks  of  Airley, 
And  on  the  silver  river's  breast 

The  lilies  blossom  fairly; 
With  blithesome  echoes,  far  and  near, 

The  sylvan  shades  are  ringing, 
And  gaily  in  the  hazel  copse 

The  merle  and  mavis  singing. 


148  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

"  But  Airley  towers  are  lonely  now, 

And  Airley  halls  are  dreary, — 
And  though  the  sun  be  bright  without, 

The  hearts  within  are  weary; 
For  she  that  was  the  light  of  all, 

The  chieftain's  lovely  daughter, 
Hath  fled  away  with  Roden's  Knight 

Across  the  stormy  water. 

"He  met  her  in  the  shady  wood, 

He  wooed  her  by  the  river; 
He  swore  by  all  the  shining  stars 

To  love  but  her  forever. 
And  first  she  smiled,  and  then  she  wept- 

Her  heart  was  troubled  sairly; 
She  gazed  upon  her  lover's  face, 

And  then  she  looked  on  Airley. 

"  Her  brow  beneath  the  moonbeams  pale 

Was  beautiful  and  holy, 
As  on  her  ear  his  accents  fell 

So  tenderly  and  lowly; 
She  could  but  list  the  honeyed  words, 

She  could  but  love  him  dearly; 
She  stepped  into  his  bonny  boat, 

And  fled  away  from  Airley. 

"  Her  cheek  was  like  a  summer  rose, 

Her  smile  like  summer  weather — 
Her  fairy  footstep  left  the  dew 

Upon  the  purple  heather; 
Oh,  where  shall  we  another  find 

Whose  beauty  blooms  so  rarely? 
'Tis  morning  now  on  Roden's  halls, 

And  midnight  upon  Airley. 

"  Yet  dwelleth  she,  a  happy  bride, 

Beyond  the  Roden  water, 
And  singeth  to  her  father's  foe 

The  songs  her  mother  taught  her. 


FIRST  NATIONAL  PERIOD  149 

Oh,  we  shall  mourn  her  many  a  day, 

Oh,  we  shall  miss  her  sairly; 
Yet  happy  is  the  Roden  chief 

To  win  the  pride  of  Airley." 

Mrs.  Jean  Wood. — Mrs.  Jean  Wood  was  the  daughter  of  the 
Rev.  John  Moncure.  As  might  be  inferred  from  her  name, 
she  sprang  from  Scottish  ancestry;  and  in  her  writings  she  has 
frequently  shown  a  fondness  for  the  Scottish  dialect,  which  she 
handled  with  rare  felicity.  She  was  the  wife  of  General  James 
Wood,  of  Frederick  County,  Va.,  who  distinguished  himself  in 
the  Revolutionary  War,  and  afterwards  became  the  Governor 
of  Virginia  (1796-1799). 

Mrs.  Wood  died  in  1823.  She  left  a  volume  of  poems  in 
manuscript,  which  is  favorably  reviewed  in  the  Southern 
Literary  Messenger  for  January,  1835.  From  this  review  we 
learn  that  "  she  was,  in  the  justest  sense,  a  mother  in  Israel,— 
a  lady  of  shining  Christian  benevolence,  whose  kindly  feelings  to- 
wards her  race  did  not  consist  in  mere  sentiment  only,  but  were 
evinced  in  a  life  of  active,  useful,  and  unostentatious  charities 
and  labors  of  love/' 

Mrs.  Wood  found  relaxation  from  her  labors  of  piety  and  her 
duties  of  social  life  in  poetry.  "Literature,"  continues  the 
review  already  quoted,  "was  to  her  the  solace  which  refreshed 
the  intervals  in  her  works  of  goodness ;  it  furnished  that  balmy 
repose  to  the  spirit,  which  it  often  needs  amidst  the  conflicts  and 
agitations  of  human  life,  even  in  its  most  favored  condition." 
But  the  extent  to  which  she  had  carried  her  poetical  efforts  was 
not,  it  seems,  suspected  even  by  her  intimate  friends. 

As  already  indicated,  the  poems  of  Mrs.  Wood  were 
first  published  under  the  title  The  Bouquet  by  Mr.  John 
Lewis  in  Frankfort,  Ky.  They  formed  the  first  part  of  the 
collection  known  as  Flowers  and  Weeds  of  the  Old  Dominion. 
The  best  of  Mrs.  Wood's  pieces  are  her  songs,  several  of  which 


150  POET8  OF  VIRGINIA 

were  popular  in  her  day ;  and  it  is  said  that  the  one  beginning — 
"  Oh,  come,  will  ye  gang,  bonnie  lassie,  wi'  me  " — 

was  sung  by  persons  who  thought  "they  were  carolling  the 
'  wood  notes  wild '  of  Scotia's  sweetest  bard."  The  best  of  the 
songs,  from  the  poetic  point  of  view,  is  the  following: — 

"  When  spring  begins  her  flowery  reign, 

And  birds  sing  forth  divinely, 
And  lassies  sweet,  a  blithesome  train, 

Smile  on  their  lads  so  kindly; 
Then  ilka  night,  with  steps  full  light, 

With  heart  so  gay  and  cheery, 
Out  o'er  the  brae,  I  take  my  way 

To  thee,  mine  ain  kind  dearie. 

"  When  nature  in  gay  dress  is  seen, 

And  summer  sun  returning 
Makes  trees   put  on   their  robe  of  green 

To  shield  us  from  its  burning; 
When  sultry  day  shuts  in  its  ray, 

I'm  heartsome  then  and  airy, 
As  o'er  the  brae  I  take  my  way 

To  thee,  mine  ain  kind  dearie." 

In  mature  life  death  invaded  the  family  circle  of  Mrs.  "Wood, 
and  cast  a  permanent  shadow  over  her  spirit.  Her  poems 
naturally  breathe  a  sadder  strain.  But  "in  society/'  we  are 
told,  "she  forced  herself  to  be  cheerful,  and  while  she  was 
making  glad,  by  her  great  powers  to  please,  the  hearts  of  others, 
anguish  like  the  '  worm  i?  the  bud ?  was  gnawing  her  own.  In 
many  of  her  poems  her  tears  flow  freely,  mitigating  her  woe. 
In  solitude  she  indulged  in  grief,  but  her  position  in  society 
imposed  upon  her  the  necessity  of  self-command,  the  duty  of 
entertaining  many  persons  which  she  performed  with  consum- 
mate ability,  even  while  her  heart  was  bleeding." 


FIRST  NATIONAL  PERIOD  151 

In  her  Wish  at  Fifty-four,  after  the  charms  of  social  prestige 
and  gayety  had  been  found  unsatisfying,  her  heart  turns 
longingly  to  the  simplicity  of  a  quiet,  modest  home : — 

"  I'd  ask  a  little  pleasure  ground, 

Before  my  window  spread, 
With   verdant    hedge    encumbered   round, 

And  many  a  flowery  bed; 
I'd  have  no  turf,  but  gravel  dry, 

Through  my  neat  walks  extend, 
Which  shady  trees,  with  branches  high, 

From  summer's  suns  defend." 

Here  with  "a  friend,  a  book,  a  cheerful  fire"  she  could  dwell 
content. 

For  the  rest,  we  may  adopt  the  moderate  language  of  the 
Southern  Literary  Messenger:  "We  do  not  claim  for  Mrs. 
Wood  very  extraordinary  powers  in  this  enchanting  department 
of  literary  effort, — for  how  few  of  the  thousands  who  have  ever 
essayed  to  climb  the  hill  of  Parnassus  have  reached  its  highest 
pinnacle;  and  on  the  contrary,  how  many  have  been  content  to 
tune  their  unambitious  lays  in  humble  seclusion — without  court- 
ing or  even  desiring  renown?  Mrs.  Wood  wrote  neither  for 
fame  nor  the  public  eye,  and  it  is  this  circumstance  alone  which 
will  impart  an  additional  interest  to  the  natural  and  unstudied 
effusions  of  her  muse." 

William  H.  Holcombe. — William  Henry  Holcombe  was  a 
native  of  Lynchburg,  Va.,  where  he  first  saw  the  light  in  1825. 
He  was  educated  at  Washington  College,  now  Washington  and 
Lee  University,  and  afterwards  completed  a  medical  course 
at  the  University  of  Pennsylvania.  At  a  later  time  he  became 
a  convert  to  homoeopathy, — a  change  which  he  ably  defended 
in  a  polemical  pamphlet.  He  also  adopted  what  has  been  called 
"  Swedenborg's  divine  philosophy,  theosophy,  and  theology." 


152  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

A  number  of  his  poems  are  based  on  the  teachings  of  the  Swedish 
theologian,  and  to  clarify  their  obscurity,  the  author  has 
supplied  copious  notes. 

In  1850  Dr.  Holcombe  moved  to  Cincinnati  and  later  took 
up  his  residence  in  New  Orleans.  His  Poems,  a  volume  of  360 
pages,  appeared  in  New  York  in  1860.  In  the  preface  he  says : 
"  The  pursuit  of  literature  has  been  with  me,  not  a  business, 
but  an  occasional  recreation.  Assiduous  devotion  to  the 
medical  profession  for  the  last  fifteen  years  has  left  me  little 
time  or  inclination  to  cultivate  the  poetic  art.  Still,  the 
material  for  a  small  volume  has  gradually  accumulated,  and  with 
diffidence  I  make  my  first,  and  most  probably  my  last  contri- 
bution to  the  stock  of  American  poetry."  The  volume  in  ques- 
tion possesses  unusual  merit;  for,  besides  his  technical  skill  in 
versification,  Dr.  Holcombe  was  a  man  of  large  attainments 
and  original  thought. 

The  poems,  nearly  a  hundred  in  number,  cover  a  wide  range. 
The  versatility  of  the  author  has  touched  upon  every  theme 
from  the  rapture  of  Kisses  to  the  profundities  of  Transcenden- 
talism, and  always  with  grace  and  power.  The  underlying 
philosophy  of  his  deepest  poetry  is  the  fancied  recognition  of  a 
correspondence  between  human  life  and  the  inanimate  forms 
of  nature — an  idea  borrowed  from  Swedenborg: — 

"  Our  souls  are  mirrored  all  around  us  here, 
Our  lives  repeated  in  the  forms  of  nature." 

We  find  in  him  something  of  the  mystical  or  transcendental 
spirit  met  with  in  Emerson.  Take,  for  example,  the  little  poem 
The  Invisible : — 

"  I've  heard  sweet  bells  upon  the  breeze 

When  none  were  ringing, 
And  the  soft  sound  of  waving  trees, 
And  insect-singing. 


FIRST  NATIONAL  PERIOD  153 

"  Though  in  the  woodland,  still  and  deep, 

No  leaf  was  falling, 
And  e'en  the  clouds  were  laid  asleep, 
They  were  spirits  calling: 

"Voices  they  were  with  whisperings 

Of  friends  departed; 
Angels  they  were  with  comfortings 
For  the  weary-hearted." 

But  Dr.  Holcombe  was  not  insensible  to  the  beauty  of  nature, 
though  he  was  not  satisfied  with  that  alone.  In  My  Lyre  he 
traces  his  inspiration,  in  part  at  least,  to  the  charm  of  natural 
objects : — 

"  I  found  it  in  the  mountain  wood, 

Hung  high  upon  the  forest  tree; 
The  winds  that  loved  the  soltitude, 
The  waves  that  to  the  sea 
Bounded  along, 
In  light  and  song, 
Gave  to  these  strings  their  melody." 

In  his  varied  repertory  of  song,  love  in  all  its  noble  forms 
finds  a  place.  To  him  it  seems  "  the  only  treasure  " : — 

"  With  many  passions,  great  and  small, 

We  restless  souls  are  living, 
But  love's  the  sweetest  of  them  all 

In  getting  or  in  giving: 
For  prior  both  in  time  and  worth 
This  sacred  flame  was  given; 
All  others  have  been  born  on  earth, 
But  love  is  part  of  heaven. 

Love  me,  love  me,  more  and  more, 

Love  me  without  measure; 
Kiss  me,  kiss  me,  o'er  and  o'er, 
Love's  the  only  treasure." 


154  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

The  author  of  this  volume  of  poems  handled  blank  verse 
with  remarkable  skill.  It  came  to  him  as  a  natural  vehicle  for 
the  utterance  of  elevated  thought.  In  his  New  Thanatopsis, 
which  is  evidently  intended  as  a  reply  to  Bryant's  great  poem, 
he  tells  us  of  his  search  "  for  Death  throughout  the  universe  " : — 

"  But  in  vain 

I  scanned  the  range  of  being  infinite, 
From  God  to  angels  and  through  men  to  earth, 
To  beast,  bird,  serpent,  and  the  ocean  tribes, 
To  worms  and  flowers,  and  the  atomic  forms 
Of  crystalline  creations.     Change  had  been, 
Perpetual  evolution  and  fresh  life, 
And  metamorphoses  to  higher  states, 
An  orderly  progress,  like  the  building  up 
Of  pyramids  from  earth's  material  base 
Into  the  fields  of  sunlight — but  no  Death." 

The  volume  closes  with  a  tragedy  in  two  acts  entitled  AgatJie. 
A  brief  examination  is  sufficient  to  reveal  the  fact  that  it  is 
written  with  classic  finish  and  classic  self-restraint.  It  is  full 
of  passion  and  poetry.  The  heroine  Agathe  was  a  priestess  of 
the  temple  of  Diana  in  Greece : — 

"Oh  she  was  beautiful! 
Her  radiating  goodness  seemed  to  make 
A  golden   halo  round  her,   which  infused 
Such  peace  into  the  soul  one  could  believe 
The  music  of  Elysian  bowers  remote 
Was  lulling  him  to  sleep." 

Professor  Michard. — A  small  volume,  entitled  Religio  Poetae 
and  written  by  J.  Michard,  professor  of  modern  languages,  ap- 
peared in  Eichmond  in  1860.  It  is  called  a  trilogy,  being 
divided  into  three  parts,  to  which  are  added  meditations  and 
notes  in  prose,  setting  forth  the  substantial  basis  and  profound 


FIRST  NATIONAL  PERIOD  155 

meaning  of  the  poem.     The  Proem  is  a  deep  sigh  for  com- 
munion with  the  Infinite : — 

"  Oh !  whether  borne 
On  eagle's  pinions,  or  the  clouds  that  fly 
Across  the  jewelled  arch  of  morn, 
Oh!  let  me  soar  on  high; 
For  I  have  dreamed  and  languished  long, 
Far  from  those  unknown  realms  of  song 
That  to  other  worlds  belong." 

The  first  part  of  the  trilogy  is  called  Religio  Poetae.  It  is 
at  once  mystical  and  profound.  Wisdom,  love,  and  power — 
all  of  them  infinite — should  be  the  themes  of  the  poet's  medita- 
tion : — 

"  Thou  shalt  discover  in  this  contemplation 

A  power  in  thy  mind  before  unknown; 

For  the  true  source  of  all  high  inspiration 

Flows  from  the  foot  of  God's  eternal  throne. 

"  Then  with  the  sacred  harp  go  forth  inspiring 
The  ideal  pure  of  truth,  beauty,  or  right: 
Or  with  shrill  trump  heroic  spirits  firing; 
Or  if  the  oaten  pipe  thy  muse  delight." 

His  conception  of  the  poet's  office  was  far  higher  than  the  con- 
ception that  frequently  prevailed  in  Virginia  before  the  Civil 
War:— 

"And  think  not  some  light  fancy  quickly  rendered 

In  easy  flowing  verses  tipped  with  rhyme, 
Makes  all  the  poet,  or  idle  dreams  engendered 
Of  gay  romance  at  eve  in  summer  time. 

"  Beware  most  of  thyself,  and  hope  not  vainly 
That  all  the  perilous  ministry  may  dare, 
Nor  in  the  temple  enter  thou  profanely, 
Doomed  to  undying  glory  or  despair." 


156  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

The  second  part  of  the  trilogy  is  made  up  of  sonnets;  and  it 
is  hardly  going  too  far  to  say  that,  as  a  whole,  they  are  the 
best  ever  written  in  Virginia.  Two  are  given,  though  there  is  a 
temptation  to  give  more.  Here  is  his  treatment  of  a  very  old 
theme : — 

"  A  morning  mist  among  the  blue  hills  lost, 

A  blade  of  grass  that  withers  on  the  ground, 
A  subtly  melting  tracery  of  frost 
Upon  the  crystal  pane  in  winter  found; 

The  echo  of  an  echo,  fleeting  sound, 

The  foam  of  ocean  wave  by  wild  winds  tossed 
On  rocks  that  overlook  the  surges  round, 
By  bark  of  mortal  mould  as  yet  uncrossed; 

A  cloud  that  fades  away  even  as  we  gaze, 
A  drop  of  dew  exhaled  within  an  hour, 
A  leaf  snapped  from  the  tree  in  autumn  days, 

A  broken  reed,  or  a  decaying  flower — 

These,  we  say,  life  resembles;  yet  we  haste 
That  life  so  brief  to  dissipate  and  waste." 

There  is  sound  philosophy,  as  well  as  true  piety,  in  the  fol- 
lowing : — 

"  Let  him  who  cannot  what  he  will  obtain, 

Will  what  he  can:  for  that  which  cannot  be 

'Tis  folly  to  desire;  then  wise  is  he 

Who  knows  from  what  he  cannot,  to  refrain; 

Such,  then,  the  source  of  all  our  joy  or  pain, 
What  we  should  will  to  see  or  not  to  see; 
Therefore  he  only  can,  whose  acts  agree 
With  duty's  law,  constant,  direct,  and  plain. 

Not  always  what  we  can  are  we  to  will; 

Oft  things  prove  bitter  that  most  sweet  appear; 
Oft  have  I  mourned  at  having  what  I  sought; 

Then,  reader  of  these  lines,  wouldst  thou  be  still 
True  to  thyself  and  to  all  others  dear, 
Will  always  to  perform  that  which  thou  ought." 


FIRST  NATIONAL  PERIOD  157 

The  last  part  of  the  trilogy  is  entitled  The  Samaritan  Woman, 
and  is  a  poetic  rendering  and  expansion  of  the  gospel  narrative. 
From  what  has  been  said  it  will  appear  that  Professor  Michard 
was  a  poet  of  excellent  abilities;  and  had  the  Civil  War  not 
intervened,  it  is  possible  that  his  genius  might  have  brought  still 
higher  lustre  to  Virginia  poetry. 


IV 

PERIOD  OF  THE  CIVIL  WAR 

(1861-1870) 

CHAPTER  XII 
War  Poetry  in  Virginia 

The  Civil  War — the  great  conflict  between  the  North  and 
the  South — was  inevitable.  The  two  sections  of  our  country 
were  divided  in  regard  to  slavery  and  State  rights;  and  the 
feeling  of  opposition  was  intensified  by  self-interest  and  moral 
conviction.  The  efforts  of  political  leaders  to  effect  a  satis- 
factory compromise  resulted  necessarily  in  only  temporary 
measures.  The  differences  were  too  deep  to  be  settled  otherwise 
than  by  the  sword.  There  was  equal  honesty  of  conviction  and 
the  same  determination  of  purpose  on  both  sides;  and  conse- 
quently a  permanent  peace  could  be  secured  only  by  a  triumph 
of  arms.  So  it  has  always  been  in  the  history  of  the  world. 

The  people  of  the  South,  holding  firmly  to  the  political  theory 
of  State  sovereignty,  believed  they  had  a  right,  when  their 
interests  were  menaced  or  interfered  with,  to  withdraw  from 
the  Union.  For  them,  therefore,  secession  was  a  natural  solu- 
tion of  the  problem.  But  the  people  of  the  North  held  with 
equal  firmness  to  the  indissoluble  character  of  the  Union.  As 
a  result,  they  could  not  consent  to  the  peaceful  withdrawal  of 
the  Southern  States.  The  act  of  secession  thus  naturally  led 
to  an  appeal  to  arms. 

The  difficulties  and  dangers  of  the  situation  were  increased 
by  mutual  prejudice  and  ignorance.  The  great  lines  of  railroad 
ran  east  and  west,  and  hence  there  was  comparatively  little 
intercourse  between  the  two  great  divisions  of  our  country.  A 

[158] 


CIVIL  WAR  PERIOD  159 

literature  of  passionate  earnestness  had  aroused  in  the  North  a 
strong  resentment  against  the  system  of  slavery;  and  the  pic- 
tures presented  both  in  fiction  and  poetry  were  often  unjust  to 
Southern  life  and  character.  On  the  other  hand,  the  people 
of  the  South  were  disposed  to  regard  anti-slavery  legislation  and 
armed  coercion  as  acts  of  tyranny,  and  to  underrate  the  strength 
and  courage  of  those  who  were  contemptuously  designated 
"  Yankees."  A  better  mutual  acquaintance  would  have  pro- 
moted a  deeper  respect  and  confidence,  and  delayed,  perhaps, 
the  inevitable  conflict. 

When  the  crisis  came,  Virginia  was  not  hasty  in  her  action. 
Having  taken  a  prominent  part  in  the  formation  of  the  American 
Union,,  she  was  loth  to  bring  about  its  dissolution.  Accord- 
ingly, she  proposed  a  peace  congress  to  meet  in  Washington 
February  4,  1861.  When  nothing  resulted  from  the  meeting  of 
this  congress,  and  when  President  Lincoln  called  for  seventy- 
five  thousand  troops — an  act  equivalent  to  a  declaration  of  war — 
Virginia  felt  in  honor  bound  to  cast  her  lot  with  the  other 
States  of  the  South ;  and  though  she  knew  the  brunt  of  the  war 
would  be  her  share,  she  bravely  faced  the  issue.  By  a  vote  of 
the  people,  whose  martial  spirit  was  kindled  to  the  highest 
degree,  Virginia  withdrew  from  the  Union  in  May,  1861. 

War  is  not  unfavorable  to  at  least  one  department  of  poetry— 
that  of  martial  lyrics.  When  a  great  struggle  stirs  the  souls  of 
a  people  to  their  depths,  there  will  be  an  outburst  of  song.  In 
war,  as  in  the  piping  times  of  peace,  the  mouth  will  utter  what 
is  in  the  heart.  The  Civil  War,  on  both  sides  of  the  Potomac, 
produced  a  voluminous  body  of  song,  in  which  the  strong  sec- 
tional feelings  of  hostility  are  only  too  forcefully  expressed. 
But  we  read  them  to-day  as  records,  not  only  of  poetic  achieve- 
ment, but  also  of  an  unhappy  discord  which  has  now,  and  we 
hope  forever,  passed  away. 

The  first  poem  of  the  war,  written  by  a  Virginian,  was  perhaps 


160  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

St.  George  Tucker's  The  Southern  Cross.  It  appeared  in  the 
winter  of  1860-61,  before  the  actual  outbreak  of  hostilities.  It 
is  very  warlike  in  its  denunciation  of  "  the  guile  of  the  Puritan 
demon  " : — 

"  And  if  peace  should  be  hopeless  and  justice  denied, 

And  war's  bloody  vulture  should  flap  its  black  pinions, 
Then  gladly  to  arms!  while  we  hurl  in  our  pride 

Defiance  to  tyrants  and  death  to  their  minions! 
With  our  front  in  the  field,  swearing  never  to  yield, 
Or  return  like  the  Spartan  in  death  on  our  shield! 
And  the  Cross  of  the  South  shall  triumphantly  wave 
As  the-  flag  of  the  free  or  the  pall  of  the  brave!" 

The  poems  at  the  beginning  of  the  war  were  full  of  passion  and 
defiance.  It  is  difficult  for  us  now  to  realize  the  intensity  of 
feeling  which  seized  upon  every  class.  The  belligerent  spirit  of 
Southern  women  was  as  fierce  and  aggressive  as  that  of  the  men. 
Before  the  secession  of  Virginia,  Mrs.  Rebecca  Tabb,  of  Glouces- 
ter, indignant  at  the  hesitation  of  the  State  to  take  that  momen- 
tous step,  wrote  with  much  intensity  of  emotion : — 

"Weep!  yes,  we  will  weep;   but  not  from  coward  fears; 
Poor  woman!  what  has  she  to  give  her  country  save  her  tears? 
Were  we  men  we  could  remember  the  lessons  we  were  taught 
How  our  fathers  fought  for  freedom.    Was  the  boon  too  dearly 
bought? 

"  We'd  remember  how  the  glory  is  passing  from  our  State, 
Nor  blind  our  eyes  with  weeping,  and  wildly  mourn  her  fate; 
We'd  remember  how  our  fathers  had  won  immortal  fame, 
And  prove  that  we  were  worthy  to  bear  a  patriot's  name." 

With  the  women  of  the  State  entertaining  such  bellicose  senti- 
ments and  urging  them  in  such  passionate  language,  it  is  not 
strange  that  Virginia  withdrew  from  the  Union ! 

After  the  beginning  of  hostilities,  almost  every  incident  of  the 


CIVIL  WAR  PERIOD  161 


war  was  celebrated  in  verse.  Dr.  William  II.  Holcombe,  whose 
excellent  verse  has  already  come  under  review,  commemorates  the 
death  of  Jackson,  the  Alexandria  Martyr,  in  some  strong  lines : — 

"  'Twas  not  the  private  insult  galled  him  most, 
But  public  outrage  of  his  country's  flag, 
To  which  his  patriotic  heart  had  pledged 
Its  faith  as  to  a  bride.     The  bold,  proud  chief, 
The  avenging  host,  and  the  swift-coming  death, 
Appalled  him  not.     Nor  life  with  all  its  charms, 
Nor  home,  nor  wife,  nor  children  could  weigh  down 
The  fierce,  heroic  instincts  to  destroy 
The  insolent  invader." 

Naturally  the  battle  of  Manassas,  bringing  fresh  hope  and. 
courage  to  the  South,  repeatedly  was  sung.  In  Virginia's  Jewels 
Miss  Eebecca  Powell,  with  triumphant  courage  in  the  midst  of 
her  iears,  celebrates  the  heroes  who  fell  in  that  great  engage- 
ment : — 

"  Oh!  martyrs  of  Manassas!  ye  whose  names, 
Though  writ  in  light,  are  still  more  love's  than  fame's, 
Long  shall  Virginia's  sons  and  daughters  tell 
How  nobly  on  that  bloody  day  ye  fell, 
And  at  a  priceless  cost  redeemed  our  land 
From  the  fell  grasp  of  the  invader's  hand. 

"  Sons  of  Virginia,  falter  not — to  you 
The  loved,  the  tried,  the  trusted,  and  the  true, 
Her  hearths,  her  homes,  her  sacred  honor — all 
For  which  men  live,  in  whose  defense  they  fall — 
Your  mother  gives,  be  faithful  to  the  trust, 
For  lo!  your  brothers'  blood  calls  from  the  dust." 

It  is  no  wonder  that  with  such  appeals,  which  breathe  the 
heroic  spirit  of  the  Spartan  women  of  old,  that  the  soldiers  of 
Virginia  fought  with  unsurpassed  gallantry  and  determination. 

But  the  war  had  not  continued  long  before  its  terrible  scenes 
P.  of  va.— 11 


162  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

and  tragedies  began  to  weigh  upon  the  hearts  of  the  people  and 
to  chasten  them  into  a  more  subdued  but  not  less  determined 
spirit.  Among  the  poems  that  set  forth  the  tragic  side  of  the 
war  we  quote  in  full  the  Battle  Eve  of  Mrs.  Weiss,  whose  earlier 
work  as  Miss  Talley  has  already  been  reviewed  at  some 
length : — 

"  I  see  the  broad,  red  setting  sun 

Sink  slowly  down  the  sky, — 
I  see,  amid  the  cloud-built  tents, 

His  blood-stained  standard  fly, 
And   meek,    meanwhile,    the    pallid    moon 

Looks  from  her  place  on  high. 

"  Oh,  setting  sun,  awhile  delay! 

Linger  on  sea  and  shore, — 
For  a  thousand  eyes  now  gaze  on  thee 

That  shall  not  see  thee  more; 
A  thousand  hearts  beat  proudly  now, 

Whose  race  like  thine  is  o'er! 

"  Oh,  ghastly  moon !  thy  pallid  ray 

On  paler  brows  shall  lie! 
On  many  a  torn  and  bleeding  heart, 

On  many  a  glazing  eye; 
And  breaking  hearts  shall  live  to  mourn 

For  whom  'twere  bliss  to  die." 

In  BeecJienlrooJc,  one  of  the  most  popular  poems  of  the  war, 
Mrs.  Margaret  J.  Preston,  whose  works  will  be  discussed  more 
at  length  on  a  subsequent  page,  vividly  brings  before  us  some  of 
the  realistic  scenes  of  the  great  struggle.  The  following  is  a 
picture  of  camp  life  and  is  called  The  Song  of  the  Snow : — 

"  Halt!  the  march  is  over; 
Day  is  almost  done; 
Loose  the  cumbrous  knapsack, 
Drop  the  heavy  gun; 


CIVIL  WAR  PERIOD  163 


Chilled  and  worn  and  weary, 

Wander  to  and  fro, 
Seeking  wood  to  kindle 

Fires  amidst  the  snow. 

"  Round  the  camp-blaze  gather, 

Heed  not  sleet  nor  cold; 
Ye  are  Spartan  soldiers, 

Strong,  and  brave,  and  bold. 
Never  Xerxian  army 

Yet  subdued  a  foe, 
Who  but  asked  a  blanket 

On  a  bed  of  snow. 

"  Shivering,  'midst  the  darkness. 

Christian  men  are  found 
There  devoutly  kneeling 

On  the  frozen  ground; 
Pleading  for  their  country 

In  its  hour  of  woe, 
For  its  soldiers  marching 

Shoeless  through  the  snow! 

"  Lost  in  heavy  slumbers, 

Free  from  toil  and  strife, 
Dreaming  of  their  dear  ones — 

Home  and  child  and  wife; 
Tentless  they  are  lying, 

While  the  fires  burn  low — 
Lying  in  their  blankets 

'Midst  December's  snow!" 

As  we  read  over  the  poems  of  the  war,  fresh  from  the  hearts 
of  the  people,  it  is  pathetic  to  note  the  deepening  tone  of  sadness 
that  pervades  them.  The  ardent  enthusiasm  of  the  outbreak  of 
the  terrible  struggle  is  cooled  by  the  pitiless  realities  of  war.  The 
early  hope  is  quenched  in  sorrow.  The  "  eloquence  of  woe  "  we 
find  in  a  little  poem  by  Mrs.  Fanny  Murdaugh  Downing  en- 
titled Desolate : — 


164  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

"  A  weight  of  suffering  my  spirit  seals, 

As  I  stand  of  life's  sweetest  joys  bereft 

No  faith,  no  hoping  a  solace  yields 

To  thrilling  sorrow,  which  only  feels: 

'To-morrow  will  prove  what  to-day  reveals- 
He  is  taken  and  I  am  left, 

And  long  as  the  world  and  this  life  remain, 

He  will  never,  never  come  back  again!  ' 

"  I  calmly  speak  and  quietly  smile, 

As  I  take  up  life's  burden  Of  bitter  grief; 
But  memory  is  gnawing  my  heart  the  while, 
With  a  tooth  more  keen  and  a  touch  more  wild 
Than  the  ravenous  beast  on  the  Spartan  child; 

A  quick,  wild  anguish  beyond  relief, 
Which  racks  me,  and  whispers  amid  my  pain, 
'  He  will  never,  never  come  back  again !  ' 

"  The  years  will  pass  and  the  seasons  flow 

With  the  changing  freight  of  joys  and  cares— 
The  spring's  sweet  promise,  the  summer's  glow, 
Autumn's  treasures  and  winter's  snow; 
But  never  a  change  nor  rest  shall  I  know 
From  days  of  duty  and  nights  of  tears, 
From  the  aching  heart  and  the  burning  brain — 
'  He  will  never,  never  come  back  again!  ' " 

Individual  deeds  of  daring  frequently  found  fitting  commem- 
oration in  song,  though  many  heroic  achievements,  lost  in  the 
smoke  and  thunder  of  battle,  have  been  swallowed  up  in  oblivion. 
After  the  terrible  battle  of  Malvern  Hill,  a  Confederate  soldier 
from  Louisiana,  whose  name  is  unknown,  was  found  fully  fifty 
yards  in  advance  of  his  line,  his  hand  firmly  grasping  his  mus- 
ket. This  incident  has  been  celebrated  in  a  poem  by  Wm.  Gor- 
don McCabe  entitled  An  Unknow-n.Hero,  the  last  two  stanzas  of 
which  are  here  given: — 


CIVIL  WAR  PERIOD  165 


"  Brave  soldier  of  our  Southern  clime, 

No  stately  song  nor  brilliant  story 
Shall  hand  thy  name  to  future  time 

As  one  who  gained  immortal  glory; 
But  Freedom,  with  her  mailed  hand, 

Has  paused  to  brush  a  tear  of  sorrow, 
And  placed   thee   with  that  chosen   band 

Who  freely  poured  their  life's  blood  for  her. 

"  And  Valor  with  her  royal  brow, 

And  Honor  with  her  stately  bearing, 
Have  surely  felt  a  prouder  glow, 

When  musing  on  thy  peerless  daring. 
A  gallant  soldier,  all  unknown! 

Though  noisy  Fame,  we  know,  shall  never 
Proclaim  thy  deeds  through  every  zone, 

A  hero's  crown  is  thine  forever!  " 

As  might  be  expected,  every  brave  and  beloved  leader  that 
fell  in  battle,  had  his  memory  enshrined  in  verse.  The  dashing 
gallantry  of  men  like  Ashby  and  Morgan,  and  the  martial  prow- 
ess of  men  like  Jackson  and  Lee,  strongly  appealed  to  the  heart 
and  the  imagination  of  the  South.  This  phase  of  the  war  poetry 
of  Virginia  is  well  illustrated  in  a  poem  by  John  R.  Thompson 
on  the  death  of  Ashly: — 

"  To  the  brave  all  homage  render! 

Weep,  ye  skies  of  June! 
With  a  radiance  pure  and  tender, 

Shine,  O  saddened  moon! 
'Dead  upon  the  field  of  glory!  ' — 
Hero  fit  for  song  and  story — 

Lies  our  bold  dragoon! 

"Well  they  learned,  whose  hands  have  slain  him, 

Braver,  knightlier  foe 
Never  fought  'gainst  Moor  nor  Paynim — 


166  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

Rode  at  Tempelstowe: 
With  a  mien  how  high  and  joyous, 
'Gainst  the  hordes  that  would  destroy  us, 

Went  he  forth,  we  know. 

"  Never  more,  alas !  shall  sabre 

Gleam  around  his  crest — 
Fought  his  fight,  fulfilled  his  labor, 

Stilled  his  manly  breast — 
All  unheard  sweet  nature's  cadence, 
Trump  of  fame  and  voice  of  maidens, 

Now  he  takes  his  rest. 

"  Earth  that  all  too  soon  hath  bound  him, 

Gently  wrap  his  clay! 
Linger  lovingly  around  him, 

Light  of  dying  day! 
Softly  fall  the  summer  showers — 
Birds  and  bees  among  the  flowers, 

Make  the  gloom  seem  gay! 

•'  There,  throughout  the  coming  ages, 

When  his  sword  is  rust, 
And  his  deeds  in  classic  pages — 

Mindful  of  her  trust 
Shall  Virginia,  bending  lowly, 
Still  a  ceaseless  vigil  holy 
Keep  above  his  dust!  " 
i 

The  heroic  spirit  with  which  Virginia  and  the  people  accepted 
the  results  of  the  war  is  as  admirable  as  the  courage  they  dis- 
played on  the  field.  We  cannot  read  the  lines  in  which  are  voiced 
their  disappointed  hopes  and  invincible  spirit  without  the  kind- 
ling of  a  reverent  admiration.  In  Mrs.  Margaret  J.  Preston's 
Virginia  Capta,  for  example,  we  read : — 

"  Look  back  through  all  thy  storied  past, 
And  sit  erect  in  conscious  pride; 
No  grander  heroes  ever  died — 
No  sterner  battled  to  the  last! 


CIVIL  WAR  PERIOD  167 

"  Weep,  if  thou  wilt,  with  proud,  sad  mien, 
Thy  blasted  hopes — thy  peace  undone; 
Yet  brave  live  on — nor  seek  to  shun 
Thy  fate,  like  Egypt's  conquered  queen. 

"  Though  forced  a  captive's  place  to  fill 
In  the  triumphal  train — yet  these 
Superbly,  like  Zenobia,  wear 
Thy  chains' — Virginia  victrix  still!  " 

The  Conquered  Banner  by  Abram  J.  Ryan — a  Virginian  by 
birth — is  widely  known.  Written  in  1865  shortly  after  the  sur- 
render of  Robert  E.  Lee  at  Appomattox,  it  brought  comfort  to 
numberless  hearts  sore  with  the  disappointment  and  sorrow  of 
defeat : — 

"  Take  that  banner  down — 'tis  tattered, 
Broken  is  its  staff  and  shattered, 
And  the  valiant  hosts  are  scattered 

Over  whom  it  floated  high. 
Oh!  'tis  hard  for  us  to  fold  it, 
Hard  to  think  there's  none  to  hold  it, 
Hard  that  those  who  once  unrolled  it 

Now  must  furl  it  with  a  sigh. 

*  *  *  * 

"Furl  that  banner!  true  'tis  gory, 
Yet  'tis  wreathed  around  with  glory, 
And  'twill  live  in  song  and  story 

Though  its  folds  are  in  the  dust; 
For  its  fame  on  brightest  pages, 
Penned  by  poets  and  by  sages, 
Shall  go  sounding  down  the  ages, 

Furl  its  folds  though  now  we  must. 

"Furl  that  banner,  softly,  slowly, 
Treat  it  gently— it  is  holy — 

For  it  droops  above  the  dead; 
Touch  it  not,  unfold  it  never, 
Let  it  droop  then,  furled  forever, 

For  its  people's  hopes  are  dead." 


168  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

A  deeper  note,  glorified  with  the  beauty  of  a  divine  submission, 
is  struck  by  Father  Kyan  in  his  Prayer  of  the  South : — 

"  My  brow  is  bent  beneath  a  heavy  rod! 

My  face  is  wan  and  white  with  many  woes, 
But  I  will  lift  my  poor  chained  hands  to  God, 
And  for  my  children  pray,  and  for  my  foes. 

Beside  the  graves  where  thousands  lowly  lie, 

I  kneel — and,  weeping  for  each  slaughtered  son, 
I  turn  my  gaze  to  my  own  sunny  sky, 

And  pray,  O  Father,  may  thy  will  be  done! 

"  My  heart  is  filled  with  anguish  deep  and  vast: 

My  hopes  are  buried  with  my  children's  dust; 
My  joys  have  fled — my  tears  are  flowing  fast; 
In  whom  save  thee,  our  Father,  shall  I  trust? 
Ah!  I  forgot  thee,  Father,  long  and  oft, 

When  I  was  happy,  rich,  and  proud,  and  free; 
But  conquered  now,  and  crushed,  I  look  aloft, 
And  sorrow  leads  me,  Father,  back  to  thee." 

Mrs.  Downing  in  her  Dixie,  after  speaking  of  the  light-hearted 
confidence  with  which  the  South  entered  upon  the  war,  calls 
those  "  blessed  "  who  died  before  the  awful  issue  was  known, 
and  dwells  on  the  difficult  task  of  living  and  rebuilding  its 
fortunes : — 

"To  die  for  Dixie!   Oh!  how  blessed 
Are  those  who  early  went  to  rest, 
Nor  knew  the  future's  awful  store, 
But  deemed  the  cause  they   fought  for   sure 
As  heaven  itself;  and  so  laid  down 
The  cross  of  earth  for  glory's  crown, 
And  nobly  died  for  Dixie. 

"To  live  for  Dixie!     Harder  part! 
To  stay  the  hand,  to  still  the  heart, 
To  seal  the  lips,  enshroud  the  past, 
To  have  no  future — all  o'ercast — 


CIVIL  WAR  PERIOD  169 


To  knit  life's  broken  threads  again, 
And  keep  her  memory  pure  from  stain— 
This  is  to  live  for  Dixie." 

How  well  the  people  of  the  South  have  responded  to  the  heavy 
duties  laid  upon  them  by  the  results  of  the  Civil  War — how  they 
have  lived  for  Dixie — is  now  seen  in  our  happy  homes,  thriving 
industries  and  growing  cities.  Their  faces  are  turned  to  the  fu- 
ture rather  than  to  the  past.  They  are  proud  of  our  great  united 
country;  and  were  some  new  danger  to  threaten  its  welfare,  no- 
where else  would  there  be  a  readier  and  more  loyal  response 
to  its  call  than  in  Virginia  and  the  rest  of  the  South. 


CHAPTER  XIII 
Poets   of  the   War  Period 

After  the  foregoing  brief  survey  of  the  lyrics  connected  with 
the  Civil  War,  we  turn  to  the  consideration  of  the  poets  who  culti- 
vated the  Muse  and  published  volumes  during  the  storm  and 
stress  of  that  period.  Some  of  them,  as  we  shall  see,  survived 
those  trying  days,  and  accomplished  important  work  in  the  larger 
and  happier  time  that  is  still  with  us.  The  number  of  poetic 
writers  is  greater  than  might  have  been  expected — a  fact  that  in- 
dicates that  literary  inspiration  is  an  impulse  that  often  defies  the 
most  untoward  conditions. 

Mrs.  Jordan. — Mrs.  Cornelia  J.  M.  Jordan,  a  native  and  resi- 
dent of  Lynchburg,  may  justly  be  ranked  as  one  of  the  major 
female  poets  of  Virginia.  She  has  two  considerable  volumes  to 
her  credit — Flowers  of  Hope  and  Memory  and  Echoes  from  the 
Cannon;  and  if  her  poetry  does  not  attain  the  greatest  heights 
of  lyrical  rapture,  it  is  always  pure  in  sentiment  and  creditable 
in  craftsmanship.  There  is  no  straining  after  the  fantastic 
either  in  thought  or  expression.  It  is  the  scenes  and  experiences 
of  ordinary  life — religion,  death,  flowers,  friendship,  the  chang- 
ing seasons — that  appeal  to  the  spirit,  and  call  forth  sincerity  of 
utterance. 

The  Proem  to  Flowers  of  Hope  and  Memory,  which  appeared 
in  Richmond  in  1861,  beautifully  expresses  the  scope  and  spirit 
of  the  volume.  The  first  three  stanzas  are  quoted : — 

"  With  loving  hands  I  humbly  bring 

-My  little  wreath  of  flowers; 
Some  gathered  from  the  haunts  of  men, 
And  some  from  wild  wood  bowers. 
[170] 


CIVIL  WAR  PERIOD  171 


"  Some  blossomed  in  my  life's  glad  spring, 

Others  in  later  years, 
And  some  were  culled  and  woven  in 
The  autumn-time  of  tears. 

"  Some  grew  like  sea-weeds,  distant  far, 

By  sounding  ocean  caves, 
And  some  (dearest  of  all  are  these) 
Have  blossomed  over  graves." 

The  first  poem,  The  Bride  of  Heaven,  is  a  very  pathetic  de- 
scription of  a  beautiful  and  noble-hearted  girl  who  withdrew 
from  society — 

"  To  be  henceforth  the  chosen  bride  of  Christ." 

The  story  is  told  in  effective  blank  verse.  As  the  heroine,  after 
taking  her  vow,  retired  into  the  gloom  and  silence  of  the  con- 
vent : — 

"  She  only  looked  a  hurried,  last  farewell, 
And  then  withdrew,  leaving  a  mournful  spell 
Of  gloom  upon  us,  as  the  massive  door 
Closed  with  an  echo  deep,  upon  those  loved 
Retiring  footsteps  we  should  hear  no  more." 

The  poems  in  this  volume,  more  than  a  hundred  in  number, 
are  brief  lyrics,  with  here  and  there  a  bit  of  blank  verse.  The 
Mansion  by  the  Sea  is  a  ballad,  in  which  an  aged,  grief -stricken 
man  tells  the  story  of  his  bereavement : — 

"  The  sea-breeze  sighed  a  requiem  round 

That  dim  old  mansion  grey, 
As  o'er  its  towers  and  turrets  now 

The  twilight  shadows  lay. 
And  as  I  turned  to  leave  the  strand 
The  stranger  seized  my  proffered  hand: 


172  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

" '  They  came  not  back,  in  vain  I  watched 

Each  coming  sail  in  view; 
The  story  of  their  fate,  alas! 

No  mortal  ever  knew. 
No  wreck  was  found — a  fearful  gale 
Was  all  that  told  the  sorrowing  tale.' " 

The  spirit  that  animated  our  author's  life  finds  expression  in 
Aspirations.  She  is  content  that  others  should  seek  wealth  and 
power.  But — 

"  Not  for  thee 

These  glittering  baubles,  not  for  thee,  my  soul. 
Earth  is  thy  battle-ground,  Heaven  thy  fair  home; 
Strive  to  obtain  a  victor's  welcome  there. 
Live  for  mankind,  thy  country — more  than  all, 
Live  for  thy  God,  my  soul." 

Her  love  of  nature  appears  in  Fear  of  Blindness: — 

"  I  dearly  love  yon  arching  sky, 

In  sunshine  and  in  storm; 
Its  calm,  bright  smile,  its  lightning  glance, 
Its  rainbow's  circling  form. 

"  I  love  the  pale,  sweet,  quiet  moon 
That  lights  that  sky  at  even ; 
And  more  than  all,  the  holy  stars 
That  gem  the  brow  of  heaven. 

"  I  love,  ah,  well,  the  woods  and  streams, 

'Mid  summer's  fervid  ray; 
To  watch  the  foaming  torrents  leap, 
The  brooklet's  sparkling  play. 

"  I  love  the  mountains,  old  and  grand, 

The  valleys,  green  and  fair; 
The  flowers  that  deck  the  verdant  hills, 
The  birds  that  swim  the  air." 


CIVIL  WAR  PERIOD  173 


A  National  Hymn  for  the  New  Year,  written  January  1,  1861, 
is  a  passionate  prayer  that  the  dangers  threatening  the  country 
might  be  averted: — 

"  God  of  the  year!  receive  our  prayer, 

In  this  our  country's  trying  hour; 

Unveil  thy  face — stretch  forth  thine  arm — 

And  save  us  by  thy  mighty  power. 

"  So  shall  our  praise  be  of  thy  name, 

Our  glad  hosannas  all  of  thee, 
And  o'er  Columbia  still  shall  wave 

The  banner  of  the  brave  and  free." 

The  Southern  Literary  Messenger  for  March,  1861,  in  a  brief 
review  of  Flowers  of  Hope  and  Memory,  says :  "  Mrs.  Jordan's 
Muse  is  not  of  the  daring,  soaring  order.  Timid,  gentle,  tender — 
it  delights  to  haunt  the  grassy  hillock  where  the  loved  and 
lost  are  sleeping.  Its  joy  is  to  catch  the  mild  inspiration  of  the 
morning,  and  interpret  it  in  songs  of  hope.  Hope  not  of  the 
earth,  nor  in  the  earth,  but  of  the  land  and  in  the  light  celestial. 
There  alone  are  its  fulfillings.  The  tones  of  its  harp  are  placid, 
soft,  simple,  thrilling — the  breathing  of  an  unambitious  heart, 
acquainted  most  with  sorrow,  and  seeking  relief  in  its  own 
music." 

Echoes  from  the  Cannon,  as  the  name  indicates,  is  made  up 
chiefly  of  poems  of  the  Civil  War.  It  contains  Corinth,  a 
poem  of  nearly  twenty  pages,  which  commemorates  in  glowing 
thought  and  utterance  the  Confederate  victory  in  the  battle  of 
that  name.  When  the  guns  are  silent  at  nightfall : — 

"  The  moon  looks  calmly  down  again,  her  pale  rays  kiss  the  dead, 

And  holy  stars  keep  quiet  watch  o'er  Honor's  slumbering  head. 

The  foeman's  eye  looks  grimly  back  o'er  all  that  crimson  plain, 

And  frowns  to  see  the  fearful  work  his  hand  hath  wrought  in 

yain." 


174  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

This  poem,  with  some  others,  was  first  published  in  1865,  and 
had  the  distinction  of  being  condemned  and  burned  by  General 
Terry,  a  provost  marshal  at  that  time,  as  an  incendiary  document. 
The  entire  edition  was  committed  to  the  flames.  But  this  petty 
and  inconsiderate  act  of  tyranny  did  not  stifle  indignation  and 
resentment.  A  few  days  afterwards  the  poetess  wrote  the  Burn- 
ing  of  "  Corinth"  in  which,  as  might  naturally  be  expected,  she 
gives  vigorous  expression  to  her  opinion  of  the  marshal.  No  fire 
can  destroy  the  memories  of  other  days  or  make  ashes  of  the 
heroes  of  the  Confederacy: — 

"  A  glorious  halo-light  surrounds  those  great  historic  names, 
That  will  outlive  the  fading  glare  of  these  poor,  feeble  flames. 
Burn  on — burn  out  the  simple  lines  a  woman's  hand  hath  traced, 
But  know  that  when  in  ashes  laid  they  will  not  be  effaced" 

Richmond:  Her  Glory  and  Her  Graves,  a  poem  of  twenty-two 
pages,  is  perhaps  the  best  tribute  ever  paid  to  the  capital  of  the 
Confederacy.  Then  follow  the  Battle  of  Manassas,  Our  Fallen 
Brave,  The  Death  of  Jackson,  The  Cadets  at  New  Market,  and 
similar  themes  relating  to  scenes  and  incidents  of  the  war.  The 
last  is  Farewell  to  the  Flag,  a  passionate  elegy  on  the  "Lost 
Cause."  There  is,  perhaps,  nothing  better  in  the  book  than  the 
little  poem  Hope  and  Wait,  which  must  have  brought  strength 
to  many  a  fainting  heart  when  it  was  written.  The  last  two 
stanzas  are  given : — 

"  Ever  in  the  great  life-struggle 

They  are  victors  most  sublime, 
Who  despite  the  downward  current 

Upward  climb. 
Upward  reach  their  eager  fingers, 

E'en  when  mocked  by  driving  tide, 
Still  reach  higher,  holding  firmer 

Till  the  winds  and  waves  subside. 


CIVIL  WAR  PERIOD  175 


"  God  will  bless  the  hero  spirit, 

Struggling  with  its  will  and  might 
'Gainst  the  wrong  in  earnest  battling 

For  the  right. 

Only    keep    your    soul's    eye    upward, 
Wrestle  bravely — smile  at  fate — 
And  to  win  the  victor's  guerdon, 
Hope  and  wait." 

J.  H.  Martin. — In  1862  there  was  published  in  Richmond  a 
poem  entitled  Smith  and  Pocahontas.  Its  author  was  J.  H.  Mar- 
tin, who  had  written  it  six  years  earlier.  It  could  hardly  have 
been  composed  amidst  the  absorbing  interests  and  excitements 
of  the  Civil  War.  In  giving  it  to  the  public,  the  author  expressed 
a  well-founded  doubt  "  whether  it  possesses  sufficient  merit  to 
secure  for  it  a  favorable  reception."  The  Southern  Literary 
Messenger  dismissed  it  with  a  single  line :  "  Readable,  but  not 
of  the  highest  order  of  merit." 

The  author  was  not  without  judicious  friends  who  frankly 
told  him  that  he  lacked  the  divine  gift  of  song.  But  he  was 
wedded  to  his  theme,  and  persisted  in  his  purpose  in  spite  of 

Minerva : — 

"  Then  let  me  still  my  plan  pursue, 

Uncramped  by  rigid  rules, 
So  prized  by  those  who  homage  yield 

To  dicta  of  the  schools. 
Indulgent  public,  do  not  frown, 

But  tolerate  my  lay, 
And  grant  me  liberty  to  sing 

In  my  own  artless  way. 
The  theme  is  worthy  to  attract, 

Whate'er  may  be  the  rhyme; 
Few  better  e'er  engaged  the  Muse 

In  all  preceding  time." 

The  poem  is  divided  into  five  cantos,  in  the  first  of  which  is 
told  the  story  of  the  hero's  rescue  by  the  Indian  maiden.  A 


176  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

few  lines  will  show  to  what  extent  the  exciting  scene  kindled  our 
author's  imagination,  and  in  what  artistic  form  he  presented 
its  impressive  details : — 

"  Extended  at  full  length,  his  head 
Upon  a  stone  is  duly  laid; 
And  now,  before  the  maiden's  eye, 
A  warrior's  club  is  lifted  high, 
Soon  to  descend  again  below, 
And  deal  on  him  a  mortal  blow. 
But  ere  the  fatal  stroke  was  made, 
She  sprang  upon  his  neck,  and  prayed 
Her  father  to  desist,  and  spare 
The  life  of  him  endangered  there. 
The  savage  parent's  breast  was  moved, 
For  he  his  beauteous  daughter  loved, 
Surprised  her  conduct  to  behold, 
That  she  should  ask  him  to  withhold 
The  death-club  from  his  fated  foe, 
Arrest  the  meditated  blow." 

The  rest  of  the  book  is  occupied  with  a  versified  rendering  of 
Smith's  life,  as  given  in  his  History  of  Virginia.  But  nowhere 
do  the  stirring  scenes  of  that  life — not  even  the  storm  at  sea  or 
the  famous  duel  before  Regal — ever  lift  our  author  above  a  me- 
chanical and  juvenile  versification. 

John  R.  Thompson. — John  Reuben  Thompson  has  deserved 
well  of  the  South  both  as  editor  and  author.  He  was  born 
in  Richmond,  and  educated  at  the  University  of  Virginia, 
where  he  received  the  degree  of  Bachelor  of  Arts  in  1845.  Two 
years  later  he  became  editor  of  the  Southern  Literary  Messenger; 
and  during  the  twelve  years  of  his  editorial  management,  he  not 
only  maintained  a  high  degree  of  literary  excellence,  but  also  took 
pains  to  lend  encouragement  to  Southern  writers.  In  1863  he 
went  abroad  on  account  of  his  health,  and  resided  for  nearly  three 


AMELIE    RIVES 


CIVIL  WAR  PERIOD  177 


years  in  London.  His  pen,  however,  was  not  idle,  and  he  became 
a  contributor  to  various  periodicals,  among  which  were  Punch 
and  BlacTcwood's  Magazine.  Shortly  after  the  close  of  the  Civil 
War,  he  returned  to  America,  and  took  up  his  residence  in  New 
York.  He  became  literary  editor  of  the  Evening  Post,  a  position 
that  he  filled  with  distinction,  in  spite  of  declining  health,  till  his 
death  in  1873. 

It  is  a  misfortune  for  Southern  letters  that  the  writings  of 
Thompson  have  not  been  collected.  Several  of  his  longer  poems, 
such  as  Virginia,  Patriotism,  and  Poesy,  An  Essay  in  Rhyme, 
were  published  in  pamphlet  form;  but  most  of  his  lyrics  are 
found  scattered  through  the  pages  of  the  Messenger  and  other 
periodicals.  He  was  not  endowed  with  the  highest  lyrical  power ; 
most  of  his  poems  fall  short  of  a  complete  and  satisfying  excel- 
lence; yet  his  literary  skill  almost  always  imparted  to  his  poems 
a  delicacy  of  conception  and  finish  that  raises  them  above  the 
commonplace. 

In  Poesy,  which  was  recited  before  the  Literary  Society  of  Co- 
lumbia College,  Washington,  in  1859,  we  have  the  fullest  expres- 
sion of  our  author's  poetic  creed.  He  boldly  rejects  the  Horatian 
maxim : — 

"  That  till  the  mighty   prophets   come, 
The  part  of  Poesy  is  to  be  dumb." 

He  has  a  word  of  appreciation  and  praise  for  the  humble 
singers  of  our  race : — 

"  O  gentle  spirits,  wheresoe'er  you  dwell, 

On  breezy  upland  or  in  quiet  dell, 

Whether  you  sing  in  solitude  and  shade, 

Or  in  the  sullen,  crowded  haunts  of  trade, — 

Whose  simple  rhyming,  in  its  artless  grace, 

Has  touched  some  hidden  sorrow  of  the  race, 

Or  taught  the  world  one  humble  lesson  more 

Of  subtle  beauty  all  unknown  before, 
P.  of  Va,— 12 


178  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

Or  soothed  one  heart,  just  when  its  need  was  sorest, 

With  harmonies  of  ocean  and  of  forest, — 

To  you  be  ever  honorable  meed, 

In  spite  of  captious  Horace  and  his  creed." 

The  themes  of  poetry  are  to  be  found  in  nature  and  human 
life  :— 

"  All,  all  are  poets  on  whom  God  confers 
The  gift  of  nature's  true  interpreters: 
While  the  eternal  hills  their  anthems  raise, 
And  swelling  oceans  vocalize  his  praise. 
*  *  *  * 

"  'Tis  his  to  turn  from:  nature's  outward  things, 
And  trace,  with  prophet  glance,  the  hidden  springs 
Of  human  life  and  action  in  the  soul, 
Whence  the  unceasing  torrents  rage  and  roll 
With  headlong  fury  to  the  shoreless  main, 
In  thunder  worthy  of  his  loftiest  strain." 

The  stirring  events  of  1861  naturally  aroused  our  poet's  muse. 
A  Poem  for  tlie  Times,  written  in  that  year,  is  a  vigorous  lyric, 
displaying  an  energy  of  thought  and  expression  not  often  found 
in  the  productions  of  Thompson's  refined  and  gentle  spirit: — 

"Who  talks  of  Coercion?    Who  dares  to  deny 
A  resolute  people  their  right  to  be  free? 
Let  him  blot  out  forever  one  star  from  the  sky, 
Or  curb  with  his  fetter  one  wave  of  the  sea. 

"Who  prates  of  Coercion?    Can  love  be  restored 

To  bosoms  where  only  resentment  may  dwell — 
Can  peace  upon  earth  be  proclaimed  by  the  sword, 

Or  good  will  among  men  be  established  by  shell?" 

Incidents  of  the  war,  called  forth  some  of  the  poet's  sweetest 
strains.  His  Ashby,  which  has  frequently  been  quoted  and  ad- 
mired, is  given  in  the  preceding  chapter.  But  the  most  popular 


CIVIL  WAR  PERIOD  179 


of  all  his  poems  is  his  Music  in  Camp,  which,  despite  its  length, 
follows  in  full : — 

"  Two  armies  covered  hill  and  plain, 
Where  Rappahahnock's  waters 
Ran  deeply  crimsoned  with  the  stain 
Of  battle's  recent  slaughters. 

"  The  summer  clouds  lay  pitched  like  tents 

In  meads  of  heavenly  azure; 
And  each  dread  gun  of  the  elements 
Slept  in  its  hid  embrasure. 

"  The  breeze  so  softly  blew,  it  made 

No  forest  leaf  to  quiver, 
And  the  smoke  of  the  random  cannonade 
Rolled  slowly  from  the  river. 

"  And  now,  where  circling  hills  looked  down 

With  cannon  grimly  planted, 
O'er  listless  camp  and  silent  town 
The  golden  sunset  slanted. 

"  When  on  the  fervid  air  there  came 
A  strain — now  rich,  now  tender; 
The  music  seemed  itself  aflame 
With  day's  departing  splendor. 

"  A  Federal  band,  which,  eve  and  morn, 
Played  measures  brave  and  nimble, 
Had  just  struck  up,  with  flute  and  horn 
And  lively  clash  of  cymbal. 

"  Down  flocked  the  soldiers  to  the  banks, 

Till,  margined  by  its  pebbles, 
One  wooded  shore  was  blue  with  '  Yanks,' 
And  one  was  gray  with  '  Rebels.' 

"  Then  all  was  still,  and  then  the  band, 
With  movement  light  and  tricksy, 
Made  stream  and  forest,  hill  and  strand, 
Reverberate  with  'Dixie.' 


180  POET 8  OF  VIRGINIA 

"  The  conscious  stream  with  burnished  glow 

Went  proudly  o'er  its  pebbles, 
But  thrilled  throughout  its  deepest  flow 
With  yelling  of  the  Rebels. 

"  Again  a  pause,  and  then  again 

The  trumpets  pealed  sonorous, 
And  '  Yankee  Doodle '  was  the  strain 
To  which  the  shore  gave  chorus. 

"  The  laughing  ripple  shoreward  flew, 

To  kiss  the  shining  pebbles; 
Loud  shrieked  the  swarming  Boys  in  Blue 
Defiance  to  the  Rebels. 

"  And  yet  once  more  the  bugles  sang 

Above  the  stormy  riot; 
No  shout  upon  the  evening  rang — 
There  reigned  a  holy  quiet. 

"  The  sad,  slow  stream  its  noiseless  flood 
Poured  o'er  the  glistening  pebbles; 
All  silent  now  the  Yankees  stood, 
And  silent  stood  the  Rebels. 

"  No  unresponsive  soul  had  heard 

That  plaintive  note's  appealing, 
So  deeply  '  Home,  Sweet  Home  '  had  stirred 
The  hidden  founts  of  feeling. 

"  Or  Blue,  or  Gray,  the  soldier  sees 

As  by  the  wand  of  fairy, 
The  cottage  'neath  the  live-oak  trees, 
The  cabin  by  the  prairie. 

"  Or  cold,  or  warm  his  native  skies 
Bend  in  their  beauty  o'er  him; 
Seen  through  the  tear-mist  in  his  eyes, 
His  loved  ones  stand  before  him. 


CIVIL  WAR  PERIOD  181 


"  As  fades  the  iris  after  rain 

In  April's  tearful  weather, 
The  vision  vanished,  as  the  strain 
And  daylight  died  together. 

"  But  memory,  waked  by  music's  art, 

Expressed  in  simplest  numbers, 
Subdued  the  sternest  Yankee's  heart, 
Made  light  the  Rebel's  slumbers. 

"  And  fair  the  form  of  music  shines, 
That  bright,  celestial  creature, 
Who  still,  'mid  war's  embattled  lines, 
Gave  this  one  touch  of  nature." 

Thompson  was  more  than  a  litterateur.  To  adopt  the  words  of 
the  Southern  Literary  Messenger  on  his  withdrawal  from  its  edi- 
torial management,  "  His  sense  of  the  becoming,  and  his  nice  re- 
gard for  the  feelings,  even  for  the  foibles,  of  others,  marked  him 
as  something  more  than  the  editor,  the  poet,  or  the  scholar ;  they 
distinguished  him  as  in  the  best  sense  of  the  word,  a  gentleman." 
He  lies  buried  in  Hollywood  Cemetery  at  Richmond.  Both  as  a 
man  and  author  he  deserved  the  tribute  paid  him  by  Mrs.  Mar- 
garet J.  Preston  in  her  poem  entitled  A  Grave  in  Hollywood 
Cemetery : — 

"  Think  of  the  thousand  mellow  rhymes, 

The  pure  idyllic  passion-flowers, 
Wherewith,  in  far  gone,  happier  times, 

He  garlanded  this  South  of  ours. 
Provengal-like,  he  wandered  long, 

And  sang  at  many  a  stranger's  board, 

Yet  'twas  Virginia's  name  that  poured 
The  tenderest  pathos  through  his  song. 
We  owe  the  poet  praise  and  tears, 

Whose  ringing  ballad  sends  the  brave, 
Bold  Ashby  riding  down  the  years — 

What  have  we  given  him?    Just  a  grave!" 


182  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

Mrs.  Preston. — Whether  we  consider  the  amount  or  the  ex- 
cellence of  her  work,  Mrs.  Margaret  J.  Preston  deserves  a  high 
rank  among  the  poets  of  Virginia.  She  belongs,  as  some  critic 
has  said,  to  the  school  of  Mrs.  Browning ;  and  in  range  of  subject 
and  purity  of  sentiment  she  is  scarcely  inferior  to  her  great 
English  contemporary.  First  and  last  she  published  a  half  dozen 
volumes  of  poetry;  and  in  them  all  may  be  found  lyrics  that 
reach  a  high  excellence,  and  make  strong  appeals  to  the  heart. 

Mrs.  Preston,  the  daughter  of  the  Rev.  George  Junkin,  D.  D., 
was  born  in  Philadelphia  in  1825.  She  received  her  education 
at  home  chiefly  under  the  instruction  of  her  father.  It  is  said 
that  she  read  Latin  at  ten  years  of  age  and  Greek  at  twelve,  and 
that  she  was  accustomed  to  rise  at  five  o'clock  in  the  morning  to 
read  the  classics  with  her  father,  this  early  hour  being  the  only 
time  he  could  spare  from  his  arduous  duties.  This  zeal  in  the 
acquisition  of  knowledge  early  pointed  to  a  literary  career. 

In  1848  her  father,  who  had  founded  Lafayette  College,  re- 
moved to  Lexington,  Va.,  to  become  the  president  of  Washington 
College.  She  at  once  became  a  contributor  to  the  Southern  Lit- 
erary Messenger.  The  issue  of  August,  1849,  contains  an  Apos- 
trophe to  Niagara,  which  exhibits  the  reflective,  religious  tone 
characteristic  of  her  writings.  The  closing  lines  of  the  poem  in 
question  are  as  follows : — 

"  I  tremble  as  I  gaze;  and  yet  my  soul 
Revives  again  with  this  indwelling  thought: 
That  though  thy  stunning  torrent  pour  itself 
In  undiminished  volume,  on  and  on, 
For  centuries  unsummed,  there  is  a  time, 
When  all  that  makes  thee  now  so  terrible, 
(Yet  in  thy  greatest  terror,  lovely  still,) 
Shall  sink  to  silence  quiet  as  the  grave. 
But  now  I  stand  upon  thy  fearful  brink 
In  mute,  strange  wonder  rapt, — I  who  appear 
So  evanescent  when  compared  with  thee, 
Shall  rise  superior  o'er  this  failing  earth, 
Whose  ruins  shall  become  thy  sepulchre." 


CIVIL  WAR  PERIOD  183 


In  1857  Miss  Junkin  was  married  to  Prof.  J.  T.  L.  Preston, 
of  the  Virginia  Military  Institute.  His  sister  Eleanor  was  the 
wife  of  Col.  T.  J.  Jackson,  of  the  same  institution,  whose  name 
was  afterwards  to  become  famous  in  the  Civil  War.  Beechen- 
Irook,  Mrs.  Preston's  first  volume  of  poetry,  was  published  in 
1865.  It  was  "  a  rhyme  of  the  war;  "  and  its  tender  pathos  and 
strong  Southern  sympathies  at  once  made  it  popular.  It  reached 
its  eighth  edition  within  a  year.  The  Song  of  the  Snow,  taken 
from  this  work,  will  be  found  in  the  preceding  chapter. 

In  1870  appeared  her  Old  Songs  and  New,  which  added  to  her 
fame  as  a  poetess.  "  No  American  woman,"  said  the  New  York 
Evening  Post,  "  has  evinced  a  truer  appreciation  of  what  a  poet 
owes  to  the  art  of  poetry,  and  the  reader  will  not  find  in  the 
three  hundred  pages  of  this  volume  one  careless  line  or  one  trivial 
thought.  There  is  great  variety  in  the  contents  of  this  book. 
From  the  most  unstudied  expression  of  sensibility  to  the  beauti- 
ful in  the  external  world,  and  to  the  dramatic  presentation  of 
ideals  or  historic  characters,  they  touch  the  whole  circle  of  art." 
Such  was  the  estimate  of  John  E.  Thompson  who,  more  than 
twenty  years  before,  had  welcomed  the  poetess  in  the  Southern 
Literary  Messenger. 

Chief  among  her  subsequent  publications  were  Cartoons 
(1875),  For  Love's  Sake  (1886),  and  Colonial  Ballads,  Sonnets, 
and  Other  Verse  (1887).  These  volumes  represent  her  poetic 
gifts  at  their  best,  and  contain  not  a  few  pieces  of  rare  excellence. 
Some  of  her  ballads  are  characterized  by  force,  dramatic  move- 
ment, and  vivid  description.  But  it  is  in  her  meditative  and  de- 
votional lyrics  that  she  is,  perhaps,  at  her  best.  Take,  for  ex- 
ample, the  following  lines  from  Cartoons: — 

"  What  will  it  matter  by-and-by, 

Whether  my  path  below  was  bright, 
Whether  it  wound  through  dark  or  light, 
Under  a  gray  or  a  golden  sky, 

When  I  look  back  on  it,  by-and-by? 


184  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

"  What  will  it  matter  by-and-by, 

Whether  unhelped  I  toiled  alone, 
Dashing  my  foot  against  a  stone, 
Missing  the  charge  of  the  angel  nigh, 
Bidding  me  think  of  the  by-and-by? 

"  What  will  it  matter  by-and-by, 

Whether  with  dancing  Joy  I  went 
Down  through  the  years  with  a  ga.,    content, 
Never  believing, — nay,  not  I, 

Tears  would  be  sweeter  by-and-by! 


"  What  will  it  matter?    Naught,  if  I 

Only  am  sure  the  way  I've  trod, 

Gloomy  or  gladdened,  leads  to  God, 
Questioning  not  of  the  how,  the  why, 
If  I  but  reach  him,  by-and-by." 

There  are  times  when  such  words  come  to  us  with  peculiar 
comfort.  Or  let  us  take  the  little  song  Calling  the  Angels  In, 
which  is  found  in  Colonial  Ballads.  It  gives  beautiful  expression 
to  the  well-meant  purpose  which  most  of  us  are  apt  to  cherish,, 
and  which,  failing  to  be  carried  out,  leaves  our  lives  the 
poorer : — 

"  We  mean  to  do  it.     Some  day,  some  day, 

We  mean  to  slacken  this  fevered  rush 
That  is  wearing  our  very  souls  away, 

And  grant  to  our  hearts  a  hush 
That  is  only  enough  to  let  them  hear 
The  footsteps  of  angels  drawing  near. 

"  We  mean  to  do  it.     Oh,  never  doubt, 

When  the  burden  of  day-time  broil  is  o'er, 

We'll  sit  and  muse  while  the  stars  come  out, 
As  the  patriarchs  sat  in  the  door 

Of  their  tents  with  a  heavenward-gazing  eye, 

To  watch  for  the  angels  passing  by. 


CIVIL  WAR  PERIOD  185 


"  We've  seen  them  afar  at  high  noontide, 

When  fiercely  the  world's  hot  flashings  beat; 

Yet  never  have  bidden  them  turn  aside, 
To  tarry  in  converse  sweet; 

Nor  prayed  them  to  hallow  the  cheer  we  spread, 

To  drink  of  our  wine  and  break  our  bread. 

"  We  promise  our  hearts  that  when  the  stress 

Of  the  life-work  reaches  the  longed-for  close, 
When  the  weight  that  we  groan  with  hinders  less, 

We'll  welcome  such  calm  repose 
As  banishes  care's  disturbing  din, 
And  then — we'll  call  the  angels  in. 

"  The  day  we  dreamed  of  comes  at  length, 

When,  tired  of  every  mocking  guest, 
And  broken  in  spirit  and  shorn  of  strength, 

We  drop  at  the  door  of  rest, 
And  wait  and  watch  as  the  day  wanes  on — 
But — the  angels  we  meant  to  call — are  gone." 

In  the  volumes  before  us  there  is  much  more  that  is  worthy 
of  mention  and  quotation.  Our  authoress  owned  a  harp  of  many 
strings;  if  her  sweetest  tones  are  those  of  a  refined  religious 
feeling,  she  is  scarcely  less  happy  in  describing  the  beauties  of 
nature  or  narrating  some  thrilling  incident.  Though  she  wrote 
much,,  she  never  forgot  the  claims  of  art,  and  her  poems  have 
a  technical  finish  that  is  in  keeping  with  the  refinement  of  their 
thought  and  sentiment.  It  is  safe  to  say  that  she  easily  stands 
at  the  head  of  our  female  singers. 

Virginia  Lucas. — In  1869  there  appeared  in  Baltimore  a  vol- 
ume entitled  The  Wreath  of  Eglantine  and  Other  Poems,  edited 
and  in  part  composed  by  Daniel  Bedinger  Lucas.  The  first  part 
of  the  book  consists  of  poems  written  by  the  editor's  sister,  Miss 
Virginia  Lucas,  who  wrote  under  the  nom  de  plume  of  "Eglan- 
tine." In  the  introduction  the  editor  says :  "  Of  the  three  stages 


186  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

of  poetic  life,  undoubtedly  the  first  is  the  disposition  to  write 
verse;  there  is  then  achieved  a  knowledge  of  what  poetry  is,  be- 
fore the  third  and  final  epoch  of  power  and  production.  It  seems 
to  me,  in  composing  the  earlier  and  later  pieces  of  '  Eglantine,' 
that  she  had  attained  to  a  knowledge  of  what  constitutes  poetry, 
as  distinguished  from  the  mere  spontaneous  and  uncultivated 
outflow  of  poetic  emotion,  and  that,  at  her  death,  on  the  thresh- 
old of  her  twenty-seventh  year,  she  was  treading  closely  upon 
the  enchanted  domain,  to  breathe  whose  atmosphere  is  inspira- 
tion indeed,  and  where  all  things  of  beauty  and  harmony  supply 
the  ambrosia  which  nourishes  the  soul  of  the  genuine  poet. 

"  But  whether  she  would  have  attained  the  power  of  the  poet 
or  not,  '  Eglantine 9  was  endowed,  as  all  who  knew  her  will 
testify,  with  his  rare  susceptibility  to  the  charms  of  nature. 
Elowers  were  to  her  companions  and  interpreters;  with  them 
she  conversed,  and  seemed  almost  in  them  to  renew  her  own 
being;  her  fancy  would  recall  the  exact  shades  of  coloring,  the 
dentations  and  involutes  of  almost  every  wild  flower  which 
adorns  her  own  beautiful,  native  Shenandoah  Valley." 

The  justice  of  these  remarks,  which  a  brother's  affection  has 
not  distorted,  leaves  little  more  to  be  done  than  to  offer  illus- 
trations of  "  Eglantine's "  gifts  and  achievements.  Almost 
every  one  of  her  poems  finds  its  subject  in  nature.  In  Summer 
Night  the  sights,  sounds,  and  subduing  effects  of  that  entranc- 
ing time  are  graphically  presented: — 

"But  calmly  on,  and  lovely  still, 

Yon  pale  orb  floats  from  star  to  star, 
And  pensive  cries  the  whippoorwill, 

And  barks  the  watch-dog  from  afar. 
Musing,  with  fresh  emotions  fraught, 

I  own  the  soul-subduing  power, 
Sacred  to  sleep  and  silent  thought, 

O  sweet  and  melancholy  hour." 


CIVIL  WAR  PERIOD  187 


In  The  Cottage  ly  the  Mill  her  thoughts  tenderly  and  sadly 
wander  back  to  her  childhood's  home,  which  has  since  passed 
into  the  hands  of  strangers: — 

"  Now  the  meadow  is  gay  with,  the  buttercup's  gold, 
And  the  green  willow  bends  to  the  breeze  as  of  old; 
The  mill  is  still  standing,  the  cot  is  still  there, 
The  rose  is  still  blooming  as  fragrant  and  fair; 
And  the  lilac  bush  waving  dispenses  perfume — 
But  the  hand  of  another  now  gathers  the  bloom; 
And  the  face  of  a  stranger  looks  out  from  the  sill 
Of  the  neat,  white-washed  cottage  that  stands  by  the  mill." 

Indian  Summer  is  a  careful  study  of  that  brief  season — 
strangely  beautiful  in  the  Valley  of  Virginia — when  the  rich 
colorings  of  the  autumn  time  are  softened  by  a  far-off,  dreamy 
haze : — 

"  The  far-off  mountain  tops,  agleam  with  rosy  light, 

While  shadows  lie  between  of  softest  blue, 
Are  changing  with  the  day's  departing  beams:  their  height 

Now  glows  in  purple  splendor;  now  its  hue 
Still  takes  a  deeper  dye,  as  gum  with  maple  blends, 

While  poplars  intertwine  their  golden  boughs; 
And  many  a  silver-sparkling  streamlet  softly  wends 

His  rimpling  pathway  where  the  linden  grows." 

These  brief  extracts  are  sufficient  to  show  that  in  the  early 
death  of  Miss  Lucas,  Virginia  poetry  suffered  an  inestimable 
loss.  No  where  else,  perhaps,  do  we  find  a  more  delicate  appre- 
ciation of  the  varied  charms  of  nature,  or  a  more  exquisite  art 
in  setting  them  to  the  music  of  verse. 

Daniel  Bedinger  Lucas. — The  life  of  Daniel  Bedinger  Lucas 
has  been  one  of  rich  and  varied  experience.  He  was  born  in 
Charles  Town,  W.  Va.,  in  1836.  He  studied  at  the  University 


188  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

of  Virginia,  entered  the  legal  profession,  and  afterwards  as 
legislator,  United  States  senator,  and  president  of  the  Supreme 
Court  of  West  Virginia,  he  has  stood  in  the  main  currents  of 
the  great  movements  of  the  past  fifty  years.  But  the  exacting 
demands  of  his  large  and  busy  career  have  not  turned  him  en- 
tirely from  the  delights  of  literature,  for  which  his  versatile 
and  superior  gifts  have  bestowed  upon  him  an  especial  affinity. 
In  The  Wreath  of  Eglantine,  to  which  reference  was  made  in 
the  preceding  sketch,  he  published  a  number  of  poems  of  his 
own  composition,  which  make  up  the  second  part  of  the  book. 
His  verse  is  characterized  by  vigorous  thought  and  expression. 
But  he  was  too  intent  on  bodying  forth  his  abundant  store  of 
thought  and  sentiment  to  indulge  in  an  overwrought  or  obtru- 
sive refinement  of  art.  At  the  same  time  there  is  the  literary 
skill  of  a  scholarly  mind  and  well-disciplined  pen. 

It  is  an  old  observation  that  sorrow  frequently  finds  voice  in 
song.  In  the  volume  before  us  there  is  a  threnody  entitled 
Eglantine,  a  tender  lamentation  over  the  early  death  of  the 
poet's  sister: — 

"  Sing,  O  saddest  bird  of  evening! 
Ever  mournful  whippoorwill; 
Gone  from  me  are  dreams  Elysian, 

Grief  alone  my  breast  can  fill ; 
Sweeter  than  all  joy,  and  dearer, 

Tender  tears  to  me  have  been, 
Tears  of  wildest  melancholy 

Rained  o'er  thee,  my  Eglantine." 

Calidia  is  a  sigh  for  the  rapture  which  young  love — only 
once  in  a  life-time — brings  to  the  soul: — 

"  Nay,  Time!  thou  canst  never  restore  me 

The  rapture  which  crowned  me  a  king, 
When  bright,  like  a  vision  before  me, 
Rose  a  maid,  as  an  idolized  thing, 
All  flush  with  the  blush  of  her  Spring." 


CIVIL  WAR  PERIOD  189 

The  Battle  of  Ball's  Bluff  is  a  strong  martial  lyric,  filled 
with  a  warm  Confederate  ardor: — 

"  Thicker,  faster  still,  the  deadly  volleys  fell, 

Dark'ning  the  air  at  dawn  of  day; 
And  wild  there  rose  above  the  din  the  Southron's  yell, 
As  the  black  clouds  rolled  away, 
Along  the  trembling  shore." 

Our  poet's  patriotic  and  national  songs  are  the  deep  out- 
breathings  of  a  thoughtful,  ardent  soul.  The  best  known  of  all 
these  pieces  is  The  Land  Where  We  Were  Dreaming,  which  is 
a  poetic  presentation  of  history  and  a  heart-thrilling  prophecy, 
long  since  happily  fulfilled.  The  poem  was  written  in  1865 : — 

"  Fair  were  our  nation's  visions,  and  as  grand 

As  ever  floated  out  of  fancy-land; 
Children  were  we  in  simple  faith, 
But  god-like  children,  whom  nor  death, 

Nor  threat  of  danger  drove  from  honor's  path — 
In  the  land  where  we  were  dreaming! 

"  Proud  were  our  men  as  pride  of  birth  could  render, 
As  violets  our  women  pure  and  tender; 

And  when  they  spoke,  their  voice's  thrill 

At  evening  hushed  the  whippoorwill, 
At  morn  the  mocking-bird  was  mute  and  still, 

In  the  land  where  we  were  dreaming! 

"  And  we  had  graves  that  covered  more  of  glory, 
Than  ever  taxed  the  lips  of  ancient  story; 

And  in  our  dream  we  wove  the  thread 

Of  principles  for  which  we  bled, 
And  suffered  long  our  own  immortal  dead, 

In  the  land  where  we  were  dreaming! 

"  Tho'  in  our  land  we  had  both  bond  and  free, 
Both  were  content,  and  so  God  let  them  be; 

Till  Northern  glances,  slanting  down, 

With  envy  viewed  our  harvest  sun — 
But  little  recked  we,  for  we  still  slept  on, 

In  the  land  where  we  were  dreaming! 


190  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

"  Our  sleep  grew  troubled,  and  our  dreams  grew  wild; 

Red  meteors  flashed  across  our  heaven's  field; 
Crimson  the  moon;  between  the  Twins 
Barbed  arrows  flew  in  circling  lanes 

Of  light;  red  comets  tossed  their  fiery  manes 
O'er  the  land  where  we  were  dreaming! 

"  Down  from  her  eagle  height  smiled  Liberty, 
And  waved  her  hand  in  sign  of  victory; 
The  world  approved,  and  everywhere, 
Except  where  growled  the  Russian  bear, 
The  brave,  the  good  and  just  gave  us  their  prayer, 
For  the  land  where  we  were  dreaming. 

"  High  o'er  our  heads  a  starry  flag  was  seen, 
Whose  field  was  blanched,  and  spotless  in  its  sheen; 
Chivalry's  cross  its  union  bears, 
And  by  his  scars  each  veteran  swears 
To  bear  it  on  in  triumph  through  the  wars, 
In  the  land  where  we  were  dreaming. 

"  We  fondly  thought  a  government  was  ours — 
We  challenged  place  among  the  world's  great  powers; 

We  talked  in  sleep  of  rank,  commission, 

Until  so  life-like  grew  the  vision, 
That  he  who  dared  to  doubt  but  met  derision, 

In  the  land  where  we  were  dreaming. 

A  figure  came  among  us  as  we  slept — 
At  first  he  knelt,  then  slowly  rose  and  wept; 
Then  gathering  up  a  thousand  spears, 
He  swept  across  the  field  of  Mars, 
Then  bowed  farewell,  and  walked  behind  the  stars, 
From  the  land  where  we  were  dreaming. 

"We  looked  again,  another  figure  still 
Gave  hope,  and  nerved  each  individual  will; 
Erect  he  stood,  as  clothed  with  power; 
Self-poised,  he  seemed  to  rule  the  hour, 
With  firm,  majestic  sway, — of  strength  a  tower, 
In  the  land  where  we  were  dreaming. 


CIVIL  WAR  PERIOD  191 


"  As  while  great  Jove,  in  bronze,  a  warden  good, 
Gazed  eastward  from  the  Forum  where  he  stood, 

Rome  felt  herself  secure  and  free, — 

So  Richmond,  we,  on  guard  for  thee, 
Beheld  a  bronzed  hero,  god-like  Lee, 

In  the  land  where  we  were  dreaming. 

"  As  wakes  the  soldier  when  the  alarum  calls, — 
As  wakes  the  mother  when  her  infant  falls, — 
As  starts  the  traveler  when  around 
His  sleepy  couch  the  fire-bells  sound, — 
So  woke  our  nation  with  a  single  bound — 
In  the  land  where  we  were  dreaming! 

"Woe,  woe  is  us!  the  startled  mothers  cried, 
While  we  have  slept,  our  noble  sons  have  died! 

Woe,  woe  is  us!  how  strange  and  sad, 
That  all  our  glorious  visions  fled, 
Have  left  us  nothing  real  but  our  dead, 

In  the  land  where  we  were  dreaming! 

"Are  they  really  dead,  our  martyred  slain? 

No,  dreamers!     Morn  shall  bid  them  rise  again; 
From  every  plain,  from  every  height, — 
On  which  they  seemed  to  die  for  right, 

Their  gallant  spirits  shall  renew  the  fight, 
In  the  land  where  we  were  dreaming! 

"  Unconquered  still  in  soul,  tho'  now  o'er-nm, 

In  peace,  in  war,  the  battle's  just  begun ! 
Once  this  Thyestean  banquet  o'er, 
Grown  strong  the  few  who  bide  their  hour, 

Shall  rise  and  hurl  its  drunken  guests  from  power, 
In  the  land  where  we  were  deaming!  " 

With  this  remarkable  production,  voicing  at  the  beginning 
of  the  Reconstruction  era  the  sentiment  both  of  a  Confederate 
soldier  and  a  philosophic  student  of  history,  we  may  well  con- 
clude our  study  of  the  period  of  the  Civil  War.  Henceforth, 
with  rare  exceptions,  we  shall  breathe  the  freer  atmosphere  of 
a  more  spacious  and  prosperous  time. 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD 
(1870-1907) 

CHAPTER  XIV 

Poets  from  1870  to  1880 

The  second  national  period,  in  which  we  are  now  living,  will 
probably  be  terminated  at  some  time  during  the  present  cen- 
tury. The  present  time  is  regarded  by  many  thoughtful  per- 
sons as  a  period  of  transition.  It  is  felt  that  in  some  measure 
the  old  order  is  changing,  and  that  important  political  and 
social  transformations  are  to  be  expected.  But  what  is  to  follow 
as  the  result  of  influences  now  at  work  cannot  be  clearly  dis- 
cerned. We  can  only  hope  that  whatever  changes  may  come 
will  be  in  the  line  of  human  progress,  and  result  in  greater  free- 
dom, intelligence,  and  goodness. 

During  the  present  period  the  conditions  have  been  generally 
favorable  to  literature.  Virginia  at  length  recovered  from  the 
effects  of  the  Civil  War,  and  has  come  to  share  in  the  general 
and  marvelous  development  and  prosperity  of  our  country.  Ag- 
riculture, mining,  and  manufacture  have  received  a  new  im- 
petus; railroads  have  been  built  in  all  directions;  towns  and 
cities,  pulsating  with  a  vigorous  life,  have  sprung  up  in  dif- 
ferent parts  of  the  State.  The  people  of  Virginia  feel  the 
uplifting  power  of  a  new  courage  and  hope. 

Intellectual  culture  has  kept  pace  with  this  material  pro- 
gress. Never  before  was  there  so  great  an  interest  in  education. 
The  ideas  of  Jefferson,  after  a  century's  delay,  are  being  real- 
ized, and  public  schools  are  now  brought  within  reach  of  all 
the  children  of  the  State.  Our  colleges  and  universities  are 

[192] 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  193 

attended  by  a  larger  number  of  students  than  ever  before.  The 
result  of  all  this  educational  activity  is  seen  in  a  higher  and 
more  widely  diffused  intelligence. 

Among  the  great  intellectual  forces  at  work  in  Virginia,  as 
in  other  parts  of  our  country,  is  the  periodical  press — that  capa- 
ble and  insistent  teacher  of  current  universal  history.  Every 
city  now  has  its  daily  paper  which,  looking  beyond  merely  local 
interests,  supplies  its  readers  with  the  general  news  of  the 
world.  Though  we  have  no  great  literary  periodical,  corres- 
ponding to  the  Southern  Literary  Messenger  in  its  day,  the 
popular  magazines,  published  in  other  parts  of  the  country, 
find  access  to  almost  every  home.  In  this  way  Virginia  has 
entered  upon  a  broader  intellectual  life;  and  laying  aside  what 
some  have  regarded  as  its  provincial  character,  it  has  assumed 
a  cosmopolitan  range  of  thought  and  sentiment. 

What  has  been  said  of  Virginia  is  true,  to  a  greater  or  less 
extent,  of  the  whole  South.  With  the  new  era  upon  which 
this  part  of  our  country  has  entered,  there  has  come  an  in- 
creased literary  activity.  Among  the  popular  writers  of  to- 
day, not  a  few  are  from  the  region  south  of  the  Potomac.  The 
names  of  Thomas  Nelson  Page,  Miss  Mary  Johnston,  Charles 
Egbert  Craddock,  Grace  King,  Joel  Chandler  Harris,  and 
others  will  readily  occur  to  every  one.  If  the  dominant  form 
of  literature  is  prose,  there  are  still  a  few  singers  whose  inspi- 
ration and  music  triumph  over  the  tumult  of  commerce  and 
manufacture.  In  the  pages  that  follow  we  shall  have  an  oppor- 
tunity to  do  some  of  them  honor. 

Rev.  Henry  Wall. — In  1870  there  appeared  in  Eichmond  a 
humorous  and  satirical  poem  called  Fashion.  It  is  a  pamphlet 
of  twenty-two  pages,  written  by  the  Eev.  Henry  Wall,  rector 
of  St.  John's  Church,  in  that  city.  The  poem,  which  is  divided 
into  two  parts,  takes  off  the  vagaries  and  follies  of  fashion. 
P.  of  Va.— 13 


194  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

The  humor  takes  away  the  sting  of  the  satire;  in  place  of 
anger,  the  verse  provokes  a  smile.  The  author  was  a  close  and 
shrewd  observer;  and  jackets,  bonnets,  Grecian  bends,  tight 
trousers,  and  other  similar  topics,  all  are  summoned  in  turn 
before  the  bar  of  common  sense.  Here  is  the  manner  in  which 
the  poet  touches  up  the  diminutive  bonnet  then  in  vogue: — 

"  But  nowadays  the  thing  they  wear 
Upon  their  own,  or  others'  hair, 
Would  neither  save  from  rain  nor  snows, 
Nor  any  blast  of  wind  that  blows. 
In  short,  without  consulting  books, 
To  unaccustomed  eyes  it  looks 
A  bunch  of  ribbons,  a  rose  or  two, 
And  there's  the  bonnet,  red  or  blue, 
Or  drab,  or  yellow,  or  pink,  or  green." 

As  was  perfectly  proper,  considering  his  clerical  station,  the 
author  ends  his  satire  with  a  saving  homiletic  flavor.  If  the 
devotees  of  fashion  would  use  some  of  the  money  wasted  in 
extravagant  dress  in  doing  deeds  of  charity, — 

"  Then  as  you'd  pass  along  the  public  ways, 
The  children  of  distress  would  sound  your  praise — 
No  heartless  belle,  nor  empty-headed  beau 
Whose  sole  renown  consists  in  outward  show, 
But  one  who  tends  the  culture  more  refined 
Of  love  to  God  and  love  to  human  kind." 

Henry  T.  Stanton. — Henry  Thompson  Stanton,  who  was  born 
in  1834,  was  an  officer  in  the  United  States  army  and  Indian 
Commissioner.  During  the  intervals  of  his  busy  life,  he  occa- 
sionally gave  himself  to  poetry,  in  which  we  find  mingled  humor 
and  pathos.  His  best  known  poem  is  The  Moneyless  Man, 
which  first  appeared  in  1855.  His  first  volume  was  published 
in  Baltimore  in  1871  under  the  title  Moneyless  Man  and 
Other  Poems. 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  195 

In  this  volume  A  Pipe  After  Tea  is  a  tender  record  of  a 
long  and  happy  wedded  life: — 

"  And  here  we  sit,  on  this  winter  night, 

A  cozy  and  happy  old  pair, 

And  loving  as  true 

As  we  used  to  do 

When  I  was  young  and  you  were  fair, 
And  the  silver  thread  from  the  loom  of  years 
Came  not  in  your  raven  hair." 

Types  of  Life  is  a  sad  meditation  on  the  brevity  and  vanity 
of  human  existence.  It  varies  somewhat  the  olden  simile  of 
the  fading  grass  and  withering  flower: — 

"  I  saw  a  star  fall  f romi  its  home 
In  heaven's  blue  and  boundless  dome, 

To  gleam  no  more; 
I  saw  a  wave  with  snowy  crest 
Thrown  from  the  ocean's  stormy  breast 

Upon  the  shore. 
*  *  *  * 

"  And  these  are  types  of  human  lives; 
Man  lives  a  little  while  and  thrives. 

But  withers  fast. 

He  sees  a  thousand  lovely  gleams, 
But  wastes  his  life  away  in  dreams, 

And  falls  at  last." 

In  Sixty- five  there  is  a  burning  reproof  of  the  passion  and 
wrong  that  followed  after  the  war.  Our  author's  sympathies 
went  out  to  the  suffering  South;  he  pleaded  for  mercy  toward 
the  conquered.  With  the  moral  earnestness  of  a  Lowell  he 
proclaims  the  truth  that  in  spite  of  "palaces  and  monumental 
piles  "— 


196  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

"  Still  without  the  seal  of  virtue  on  the  charter  of  your  state, 
In  the  eyes  of  Christian  people  you  are  neither  good  nor  great; 
In  the  eyes  of  God  Almighty  you  are  only  great  in  sin, 
And  He'll  weigh  you  in  the  autumn  when  his  angels  garner  in." 

The  Faith  She  Plighted  Me  is  a  record  of  tragic  disappoint- 
ment. It  is  founded,  as  the  author  tells  us,  on  an  actual  occur- 
rence. But  "  the  unfortunate  gentleman,  however,  still  lives, 
having  fairly  forgotten  his  disappointment  in  the  possession  of 
a  new  love."  The  hero  of  the  poem,  standing  by  the  fair  form 
of  his  love  in  the  flush  of  evening,  had  pleadingly  asked  her 
not  to  forget  her  plighted  faith  when  he  was  beyond  the  sea : — 

"  Then  came  her  full  heart  from  her  eyes, 

Turned  liquidly  to  mine — 
'  Did  Eve  forget  her  Paradise 

Beneath  another  vine? 
No,  no,'  she  said,  '  the  waves  may  fling 

Their  whiteness  on  the  sea, 
Nor  time,  nor  tide,  nor  death  shall  bring 
Forgetfulness  to  me.' " 

After  a  long  absence  amidst  the  flowers  of  Italy,  the  fruits 
of  France,  and  the  thrift  of  Germany,  the  lover  returns  to  find 
the  plighted  faith  broken: — 

"  You  mark  the  pale,  proud  woman  there, 

Beneath  the  astral  shine; 
Despite  such  blossoms  in  her  hair, 

Her  heart  should  pulse  to  mine; 
I  brought  the  sunset  back  to-night 

Prom  far  beyond  the  sea; 
I  dared  not  think  she  held  so  light 

The  faith  she  plighted  me! 

"  I  clutched  the  goblet  as  a  vise, 

And  pledged  her  thus  in  wine: 
'  May  Eve  forget  her  Paradise 

Beneath  another  vine!  ' 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  197 

And  then  I  said,  '  the  waves  may  fling 

Their  whiteness  on  the  sea, 
Nor  time,  nor  tide,  nor  death  shall  bring 

Forge tfulness  to  me!  '  " 

It  is,  perhaps,  worth  while  to  reproduce  in  full  The  Money- 
less Man.  There  are  many  who  think  that  the  social  conditions 
portrayed  in  the  poem  fifty  years  ago,  have  not  been  yet  en- 
tirely reformed ! 

"  Is  there  no  secret  place  on  the  face  of  the  earth, 
Where  charity  dwelleth,  where  virtue  has  birth? 
Where  bosoms  in  mercy  and  kindness  will  heave, 
When  the  poor  and  the  wretched  shall  ask  and  receive? 
Is  there  no  place  at  all,  where  a  knock  from  the  poor, 
Will  bring  a  kind  angel  to  open  the  door? 
Ah,  search  the  wide  world  wherever  you  can, 
There  is  no  open  door  for  a  Moneyless  Man! 

"  Go  look  in  yon  hall  where  the  chandelier's  light 
Drives  off  with  its  splendor  the  darkness  of  night, 
Where  the  rich-hanging  velvet  in  shadowy  fold 
Sweeps  gracefully  down  with  its  trimmings  of  gold, 
And  the  mirrors  of  silver  take  up,  and  renew, 
In  long-lighted  vistas,  the  'wildering  view: 
Go  there!   at  the  banquet,  and  find,  if  you  can, 
A  welcoming  smile  for  a  Moneyless  Man! 

"  Go,  look  in  yon  church  of  the  cloud-reaching  spire, 
Which  gives  to  the  sun  his  same  look  of  red  fire, 
Where  the  columns  and  arches  are  gorgeous  within, 
And  the  walls  seem  as  pure  as  a  soul  without  sin; 
Walk  down  the  long  aisles,  see  the  rich  and  the  great 
In  the  pony?  and  the  pride  of  their  wordly  estate; 
Walk  down  in  your  patches,  and  find,  if  you  can, 
Who  opens  a  pew  to  a  Moneyless  Man. 

"  Go  look  in  the  banks,  where  Mammon  has  told 
His  hundreds  and  thousands  of  silver  and  gold; 
Where,  safe  from  the  hands  of  the  starving  and  poor, 
Lies  pile  upon  pile  of  the  glittering  ore! 


198  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 


Walk  up  to  their  counters — ah,  there  you  may  stay 
Till  your  limbs  grow  old,  till  your  hairs  grow  gray, 
And  you'll  find  at  the  banks  not  one  of  the  clan 
With  money  to  lend  to  a  Moneyless  Man! 

"  Go,  look  to  yon  judge,  in  his  dark-flowing  gown, 
With  scales  wherein  law  weigheth  equity  down; 
Where  he  frowns  on  the  weak  and  smiles  on  the  strong, 
And  punishes  right  whilst  he  justifies  wrong; 
Where  juries  their  lips  to  the  Bible  have  laid, 
To  render  a  verdict — they've  already  made: 
Go  there,  in  the  court-room,  and  find,  if  you  can, 
Any  law  for  the  cause  of  the  Moneyless  Man! 

"  Then  go  to  your  hovel — no  raven  has  fed 
The  wife  who  has  suffered  too  long  for  her  bread; 
Kneel  down  by  her  pallet,  and  kiss  the  death  frost 
From  the  lips  of  the  angel  your  poverty  lost: 
Then  turn  in  your  agony  upward  to  God, 
And  bless,  while  it  smites  you,  the  chastening  rod ; 
And  you'll  find,  at  the  end  of  your  life's  little  span, 
There's  a  welcome  above  for  a  Moneyless  Man!  " 

Joseph  Salyards. — Joseph  Salyards,  a  native  of  Rockingham 
County,  was  born  in  a  cabin.  In  his  earlier  years  he  had  a  hard 
struggle  with  poverty;  but  his  desire  for  knowledge  triumphed 
over  all  difficulties,,  and  in  the  course  of  time  he  became  one  of 
the  ablest  and  best  known  teachers  of  the  Valley  of  Virginia. 
It  is  estimated  that  more  than  a  thousand  students  felt  the 
uplifting  power  of  his  strong  personality  and  his  abounding 
scholarship. 

But  little  is  known  of  his  father,  who  disappeared  in  a  cam- 
paign against  the  Indians.  His  mother,  whose  maiden  name 
was  Edwards,  was  descended  from  a  noble  family  that  traced 
its  ancestry  back  to  King  Edward  VI.  This  strain  of  noble 
English  blood  inspired  the  poet  with  a  deep  affection  for  the 
mother  country — an  affection  that  found  beautiful  expression 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD 


in  a  stanza  of  Idothea,  an  elaborate  didactic  poem  presently  to 
be  noticed:  — 

"Dear  Old  England,  ever  leading 

Onward  through  the  files  of  Fate, 
Foremost  where  the  brave  are  bleeding, 
Foremost  where   the   wise  debate; 
Mistress  of  the  willing  sea, 
Mother  of  the  nations  free, 
Friend  of  genius,  learning,  art, 
Honest  friend  of  honest  heart; 
Source  of  social  elevation, 

Schemes  of  wide  benevolence, 
Pioneer  of  every  nation 

Up  the  steeps  of  Providence." 

Professor  Salyards  was  for  many  years  the  head  of  the  Poly- 
technic Institute  at  New  Market.  Apart  from  his  routine  work 
he  remained  an  indefatigable  student  and  writer.  He  familiar- 
ized himself  with  no  fewer  than  eight  ancient  and  modern  lan- 
guages, and  became  master  of  a  vigorous  prose  style.  His  prin- 
cipal literary  work,  however,  was  Idothea,  published  in  1874. 
It  is  a  moral  epic,  and  engaged  his  attention  for  forty  years. 
In  this  particular  it  reminds  us  of  the  slow  elaboration  of 
Goethe's  Faust;  and  like  the  famous  German  poem,  the  great 
length  of  time  devoted  to  its  composition  prevented  uniformity 
in  style  and  treatment. 

It  is  not  easy  to  give  a  correct  and  satisfactory  estimate  of 
Idothea.  The  prevailing  measure  is  iambic  pentameter  in  rhym- 
ing couplets  —  a  form  that  in  its  easy  flow  recalls  the  masterful 
lines  of  Pope.  But  there  are  also  rapid  tetrameter  lines  and 
various  lyric  measures,  all  of  which  exhibit  scholarly  attain- 
ments and  artistic  skill.  There  is  abundant  learning  and  pro- 
found thought;  but  there  is  obscurity  in  the  general  purpose 
of  the  poem,  and  a  lack  of  cohesive  unity  in  its  several  parts. 
It  would  not  have  been  easy  reading  in  the  palmiest  days  of 


200  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 


moral  epics;  and  in  this  prosaic,  commercial  age,  when  even 
brief  lyrics  are  apt  to  be  skipped  over  lightly,  there  are  few 
readers  so  heroically  devoted  to  poetry  as  to  master  its  thought 
and  message. 

The  design  of  the  poem  is  explained  by  Mr.  Elon  0.  Henkel, 
a  former  student  and  great  admirer  of  the  poet,  as  follows: 
"  The  universal  history  of  both  rudely  barbaric  and  of  highly 
civilized  mankind  discloses  a  knowledge  of  a  Divine  Being. 
To  account  for  the  origin  of  this  idea  and  enforce  its  presence 
as  coincident  with  the  consciousness  of  good  and  evil,  constitute 
the  ground-work  of  the  poem.  The  three  great  departments  of 
the  universe,  the  intellectual,  the  moral,  and  the  spiritual,  are 
boldly  encompassed.  Two  leading  characters,  known  as  Idothea 
and  Erasmus,  constitute  the  heroine  and  hero  of  the  poem — 
with  a  few  other  appropriate  characters.  Truth,  a  divine  attri- 
bute, disguised  under  the  form  of  Idothea,  impersonates  the 
moral  world,  whilst  Erasmus  dominates  the  intellectual." 

The  epic  is  divided  into  three  parts:  The  first  has  as  its 
theme  the  beauty  of  truth  as  found  in  man,  in  nature,  and  in 
revelation.  The  second  part,  which  is  made  up  of  nine  idyls, 
is  entitled  Good  and  Evil.  The  third  part  is  called  Yonder,  or 
the  Beauty  of  Holiness.  In  the  last  two  parts  lyric  measures 
are  the  prevailing  type;  and  though  the  separate  idyls  rise  far 
above  the  commonplace  in  thought  and  expression,  they  fall 
short  of  that  felicity  which  might  baptize  them  with  immor- 
tality. 

It  might  be  a  question  whether  the  poet's  learning  was  not 
in  some  degree  an  impediment  to  his  imaginative  flight.  He 
scarcely  seems  to  have  ascended  to  that  serene  altitude,  at  which 
learning  is  transmuted  into  unconscious  culture  and  power. 
The  poem,  apart  from  its  title,  contains  a  diction  that  is  fre- 
quently not  English.  Such  words  as  "idos,"  "  uranothen," 
"  kalonimota,"  are  inexcusable  importations,  and  apparently 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  201 

serve  no  other  purpose  than  to  make  the  unlearned  gasp  and 
stare.  There  is  nothing  in  the  poem  that  might  not  have  been 
told  in  plain  English;  and  it  is  always  a  melancholy  spectacle 
to  see  a  real  scholar  unable  to  cast  the  shell  of  pedantry. 

It  only  remains  to  give  a  passage  or  two  in  illustration  of 
the  author's  style.  This  earth  of  ours  is  a  part  of  the  celestial 
universe,  and  in  its  sublime  movements  is  bearing  us  through 
the  heavens: — 

"  A  stranger  here,  unconscious  how,  or  why, 
I  walk  the  earth;    I  circle  round  the  sky! 
Pair  mother  Earth,  why  deem  our  dust  below  f 
Thou  too  art  heaven,  if  yonder  worlds  are  so: 
In  heaven  I  worship,  though  a  wandering  mite; 
Though  clay,  I  breathe;   though  dust,  I  see  the  light! 
A  conscious  atom  on  thy  shining  breast, 
I  too  have  been  the  universal  guest." 

Like  Wordsworth,  our  poet  maintains  that  nature,  not  the 
wayward,  contradictory  lives  of  men,  is  the  great  teacher: — 

"Away!  away!  I  see  no  form  divine. 
T^uth,  beauty  lives,  but  man  is  not  the  shrine; 
To  mountains  high,  to  oceans  deep  I  go, 
To  brooks  that  murmur,  to  the  winds  that  blow. 
The  rocks  beneath,  the  stars  that  roll  above, 
May  teach  me  beauty,  teach  me  truth  and  love; 
Adieu  the  glory  and  the  gates  of  men! 
The  rainbow  rests  upon  the  mountain  glen!  " 

A  single  passage  from  the  song  of  a  true-hearted  maiden 
will  show  our  author's  lyric  skill  at  its  best : — 

"  I'll  weave  a  wreath  of  bright  hues  three, 
For  the  brow  of  my  charming  youth, 
And  say,  you  must  wear  it,  my  love,  for  me, 
This  garland  of  love  and  truth. 


202  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 


For  as  its  beauty  and  perfume 

Are  shed  for  thee  alone, 
Thy  true  Lorraine,  and  her  youthful  bloom, 

While  they  last,  shall  be  thine  own, 
My  love; 

While  they  last,  shall  be  thine  owa. 

"  But  as  its  sweets,  so  fragrant  now, 

Must  soon  be  sighed  away, 
Its  leaves  upon  thy  happy  brow 

•  Soon  wither  and  decay, 
These  charms  you  love  must  wither  too, 

This  heart  lie  cold  and  lone; 
But  thou  wilt  know,  oh!  deep  and  true, 
They  once  were  all  thine  own, 

My  love; 
They  once  were  all  thine  own." 

The  poet  passed  away  August  10,  1885 — a  man  "who  in 
life  was  revered  and  in  death  lamented." 

James  DeR.  Blackwell. — "The  Poetical  Works  of  James 
DeKuyter  Blackwell  were  published  in  New  York  in  1879  in 
three  volumes.  This  large  collection  is  made  up  of  short  poems, 
mostly  in  metres  which  our  hymn-books  have  made  familiar. 
The  author  has  some  metrical  skill,  and  can  weave  a  common- 
place thought  into  good  average  rhyme.  But  we  look  in  vain 
for  lofty  flights  of  poetic  fancy  and  poetic  power. 

When  I  Am  Gone  expresses  the  melancholy  reflections  that 
sometimes  come  to  the  most  of  us.  The  sun  will  shine  as 
brightly,  and  the  birds  will  sing  as  sweetly ;  and,  after  a  brief 
period,  like  the  legions  that  have  gone  before  us,  we  shall  be 
forgotten : — 

"Alas!  how  soon  is  man  forgot 

Who  once  from  earth  has  passed  away! 
It  seems  that  time's  erasive  blot 

Falls  on  him  ere  his  corpse  decay. 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  203 

"  It  seems  as  if  the  closing  tomb, 

Which  darkly  hides  him  from  the  view, 
Within  its  deep  and  caverned  gloom 

Hath  power  to  clasp  his  memory  too." 

The  brief  poem,  Dwell  Not  on  Departed  Joys,  commends  a 
course  that  many  will  be  slow  to  accept.  We  are  not  willing 
that  the  blissful  moments  of  the  past  should  be  utterly  sub- 
merged in  oblivion.  Though  the  vase  be  shattered,  "the  scent 
of  the  roses  clings  round  it  still."  But  let  us  hear  the  poet: — 

"  Oh,  dwell  not  on  departed  joys! 

They  have  forever  fled; 
Oh,  let  them  in  oblivion  rest, 
With  the  forgotten  dead. 

"  For  if  we  would  past  joys  recall 

To  memory  again, 
Unbidden  with  them  will  return 
Too  well  remembered  pain. 

"Alas!  each  smile  of  happiness 

Was  followed  soon  by  tears ; 
Then  let  them  both  together  sleep 
Within  the  grave  of  years." 

In  Evening  the  author  rises  as  near  true  poetry  as  in  anything 
else  he  has  written : — 

"  Morning  is  lovely!  but  sweeter  far 

When  eve  o'er  nature   spreads  her  mantle  gray; 
When  from;  the  deep  cerulean  depths  her  star 
Beams  on  our  vision  with  its  calming  ray. 

"  Day  is  for  labor;  but  eve  bringeth  rest, 

And  o'er  the  earth  her  tranquil  twilight  throws; 
The  bird  returns  in  gladness  to  her  nest, 
The  beast  o'er-wearied  sinks  into  repose." 


204  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 


A  number  of  the  poems  are  personal,  and  several  celebrate 
the  glories  and  beauties  of  his  native  State. 

Rev.  Joel  Swartz. — The  Eev.  Joel  Swartz,  preacher,  lecturer, 
and  poet,  was  born  in  Shenandoah  County,  Va.,  in  1827.  He 
was  educated  in  Capital  University,  Columbus,  Ohio;  and  after 
his  ordination  to  the  Lutheran  ministry,  he  served  congrega- 
tions in  Baltimore,  Cincinnati,  Harrisburg,  and  elsewhere.  But 
in  all  his  migrations  and  professional  labors,  he  has  constantly 
harkened  to  the  call  of  the  poetic  muse. 

In  1879  he  published  a  volume  of  poetry  entitled  Dr earnings 
of  the  Waking  Heart,  and  in  1901  a  second  volume  of  two 
hundred  and  thirty-nine  pages  with  the  simple  title  Poems. 
The  broad  culture  of  Dr.  Swartz  has  made  him  at  home  in 
many  fields;  and  in  his  volumes  we  find  poems  of  nature,  medi- 
tations on  the  deeper  aspects  of  life,  pictures  of  beautiful  home- 
life,  and  varied  musings  for  quiet  hours.  He  has  been  a  strong 
and  aggressive  advocate  of  temperance,  and  his  ardor  in  this 
cause  naturally  finds  expression  in  some  vigorous  lyrics. 

To  Dr.  Swartz  the  poet  is  a  seer,  whose  finer  sensibilities 
enable  him  to  read  in  nature  and  history  and  the  human  heart 
the  truths  of  God.  In  the  first  poem  called  The  Poet-Seer  we 
read : — 

"  The  poet,  with  a  keener  ear, 

In  solitudes  of  thought  apart, 
Can  hear  the  pulses,  far  and  near, 
In  earth  and  sea  and  atmosphere, 

Of  Nature's  never  resting  heart. 

"  And  his  own  heart,  like  those  fine  strings, 
Across  the  wind-harp's  bosom  drawn, 

Can  turn  to  song  the  unheard  things 

Which  conue  and  go  on  airy  wings, 

More  lightly  than  the  tread  of  dawn." 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  205 

This  will  be  recognized  as  no  ordinary  writing.  There  is  a 
firm  mastery  of  thought  and  form.  But  it  may  be  said  that 
the  intellect  rather  than  the  fancy  dominates  our  poet's  singing. 
He  does  not  write  what  is  bizarre,  or  mystical,  or  far-fetched; 
there  is  clear  thought  pervading  his  poetry,  and  sometimes  the 
opening  line  reads  like  a  thesis  or  proposition  to  be  demon- 
strated or  discussed.  If  this  fact  at  times  makes  his  verse  a 
little  prosaic,  it  always  renders  it  substantial. 

A  profound  moral  and  religious  feeling  runs  through  our 
author's  poetry.  Many  of  the  themes  are  suggested  by  Scripture 
texts;  and  the  poems  thus  become  a  sort  of  versified  homily. 
This  is  a  dangerous  process,  for  only  high  poetic  gifts  and  rare 
felicity  of  thought  and  expression  can  prevent  a  prosaic  effect. 
In  this  difficult  task  he  has  sometimes  succeeded  admirably. 
Soul  Solitariness,  for  example,  is  based  on  Prov.  14 :10 — "  The 
heart  knoweth  his  own  bitterness,  and  a  stranger  doth  not  in- 
termeddle with  his  joy/'  It  begins — 

"  All  souls  must  chiefly  dwell  alone 

Whoever  may  be  near; 
We  hold  a  chamber  all  our  own, 
Which  but  to  us  and  God   is  known, 

Where  none  may  interfere." 

The  poet,  with  advancing  years,  has  a  deep  sense  of  the 
responsibility  of  life  and  its  mysteries.  He  questions  What  Is 
Man?  and  asks  Whom  Shall  We  Crown?  He  feels  the  presence 
of  that  "  divinity  that  shapes  our  ends."  In  The  Larger  Plan, 
he  says: — 

"  If,  in  my  youth,  my  heart  proposed 

Which  way  my  steps  should  tend, 
I've  found,   in  truth,  a  will  disposed 
The  journey  and  the  end. 


206  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 


"  Man's  way,  I  find,  is  not  in  man, 

To  order  and  control; 
There  lies  above  his  partial  plan 
A  larger,  grander  whole." 

There  is,  in  our  author's  poetry,  a  wholesome  attitude  toward 
life.  There  have  been  trials,  but  unlike  Job,  he  blesses  the  day 
that  he  was  born.  He  still  enjoys  "  life's  cup  of  cheer,"  but 
with  the  chastened  soberness  of  age.  Yet,  like  so  many  others, 
he  would  not  live  life  over  again;  and  so  he  says  in  My  Birth- 
day at  Three  Score  and  Ten  and  Four, — 

"  But  would  I  live  my  life  again? 
And  would  I,  if  I  could,  recall 
My  childhood,  manhood,  all  in  all — > 
Without  their  tears,  without  their  pain — 
Retrace  the  steps  that  I  have  gone? 
No!  life  is  better  further  on." 


CHAPTER  XVi 

Poets  of  1880  and  1881 

The  year  1880  was  a  phenomenal  one  for  poetry  in  Virginia. 
No  fewer  than  five  volumes,  if  we  include  that  of  Father  Ryan, 
were  published  by  poets  of  the  Old  Dominion.  Several  of  them 
are  worthy  of  extended  consideration. 

Charles  W.  Cooper. — Not  much,  however,  can  be  said  of  The 
Musings  of  Myron  by  Charles  W.  Cooper.  The  author  was  a 
migratory  school-teacher,  whose  attainments  in  English,  not- 
withstanding his  vocation,  were  evidently  limited.  The  intri- 
cacies of  our  irregular  verbs,  it  is  to  be  feared,  always  remained 
a  partially  unsolved  problem  for  him. 

But  it  is  to  his  credit  that  he  had  only  a  humble  opinion  of 
his  verse,  most  of  which  was  produced  in  ante-bellum  days.  "  I 
then  had  a  fondness,"  he  says  pathetically,  "  a  predilection  for 
the  muses.  Not  long  after  these  poor  effusions  were  produced, 
I  started  on  the  sober  journey  of  life ;  and  I  must  say  that  the 
stern  realities  through  which  I  have  passed  since  then  have 
furnished  but  little  fuel  to  the  kindling  of  poetic  fire.  Though 
conscious  of  the  many  and  varied  defects  of  these  productions, 
they  are  nevertheless  given  to  the  public." 

The  author  of  The  Musings  was  a  Confederate  soldier.  There 
is  a  reminiscence  of  his  service  in  the  army  in  the  Dream  of  the 
Chancellorsville  Soldier.  He  says  that  he  was  not  influenced  in 
its  composition  by  Campbell's  well-known  poem,  The  Soldier's 
Dream,  and  certainly  the  excellence  of  the  Scotchman's  produc- 
tion is  not  reproduced.  The  opening  stanzas  are  given  as  a 
specimen  of  Myron's  work  at  its  best: — 

[207] 


208  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 


"  How  many  brave  comrades  fell  near  me  that  day, 

My  heart  is  sore  pained,  as  memory  recalls; 
'Twas  a  harvest  of  death,  no  one  could  portray: 

The  charge  of  the  valiant,  the  whizzing  of  balls. 

"  But  the  scenes  of  the  day  now  passed  from  my  sight, 

The  blood  and  the  carnage  no  more  could  I  see; 
But  the  mind  wandered  on,  and  I  dreamed  in  the  night 
Of  my  newly  made  bride, — gay,  sportive,  and  free." 

The  principal  poem  in  the  volume  in  hand  is  The  Pilgrimage, 
which  records  an  imaginary  journey  to  the  Old  World.  The 
Orient,  England,  Scotland,  Ireland,  France,  and  Italy,  are  vis- 
ited in  succession,  and  some  of  their  historic  scenes  and  char- 
acters are  brought  before  us.  Had  the  execution  of  the  poem 
equaled  the  boldness  of  the  plan,  it  might  have  called  for 
further  notice.  The  Natural  Bridge  commemorates  a  visit  there 
in  1872 ;  but  it  can  hardly  be  said  that  the  poem  gives  adequate 
expression  to  the  sublime  emotions  awakened  by  that  stupendous 
work  of  nature. 

Not  long  after  the  publication  of  this  volume,  Mr.  Cooper 
entered  the  Soldiers'  Home  at  Eichmond,  where  he  died  several 
years  later. 

Edward  S.  Gregory. — Edward  S.  Gregory  was  born  in  Lynch- 
burg  in  1843.  He  early  showed  a  fondness  for  books;  but  the 
war  called  him  in  1861  from  his  studies.  He  saw  military 
service  in  Virginia  and  Mississippi,  surrendering  with  Pember- 
ton  at  Vicksburg.  After  the  war,  he  was  connected  with  several 
Virginia  papers,  and  from  1871  to  1877  he  edited  the  Peters- 
burg Index-Appeal  with  ability  and  success.  He  then  gave  up 
journalism  for  the  Christian  ministry,  and  was  ordained  priest 
in  the  Episcopal  Church  in  1881.  Death  interrupted  his  useful 
life  three  years  later. 

In  1880  he  published  in  Lynchburg  a  volume  of  verse  ealled 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  209 

Bonniebell  and  Oilier  Poems.  The  title  poem  is  a  poetic  ro- 
mance of  nearly  fifty  pages,  the  moral  of  which  is  that  a  woman's 
love  will  in  the  end  triumph  over  her  desire  to  lead  an  inde- 
pendent life.  Here  is  the  opening  stanza  describing  the 
heroine : — 

"  Such  sweetness  and  such  stateliness  in  Bonniebell  were  mingled, 
Her  gentleness  so  full  of  charm — her  pride  so  high  was  seen, 
That  if,  in  her  submissive  mood,  my  young  blood  lit  and  tingled, 
As  oft  I  saw,  with  sinking  heart,  she  took  the  crown  of  queen." 

The  song  called  Renunciation  in  this  romance,  which  gives 
expression  to  the  hero's  sad  self-surrender  in  his  despair,  reaches 
a  height  scarcely  found  elsewhere  in  our  author's  verse.  It  is 
worthy  of  reproduction  here  in  full : — 

"  Dear  heart,  I  win  thee  and  thy  love  in  losing, 

And  therein  find  my  own  true  self  at  last; 
For  me  remains  not  any  place  of  choosing, 
Nor  any  room  for  taking  or  refusing; 

And  all  bright  hope  is  buried  in  the  past. 

"  Best  heart,  though  now  I  know  thee  past  the  winning, 
And  now  no  more  may  love  aspire  to  gain; 

Through  all  the  past  of  suffering  and  sinning, 

And  aimless  effort  and  of  vain  beginning, 
I  see  thy  figure  shining,  without  pain. 

"  Noblest  and  purest,  now  know  I  'tis  better 

That  what  I  fondly  dreamed  should  never  be; 

Love's  spirit  is  more  glorious  than  love's  letter, 

And  thine  hath  blest  me  fully,  without  fetter, 
And  I  possess  thee  all,  yet  leave  thee  free! ' 

"  Farewell,  and  yet  I  leave  not,  nor  shall  leave  thee, 

And  where  thou  art  my  better  self  shall  bide; 
My  self,  unselfish  now,  shall  so  receive  thee, 
That  neither  change  may  shame  nor  absence  grieve  thee; 

So  shalt  thou  dwell  forever  at  my  side." 
P.  of  Va.— 14 


210  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 


It  is  needless  to  say  that  the  ending  of  the  romance  was  not 
in  fulfilment  of  this  pathetic  self-renunciation.  At  the  proper 
moment  "a  radiant  rosebud,"  which  was  to  be  the  happy  sign 
of  his  acceptance,  burned  half  hidden  in  the  warm  braids  of 
her  hair. 

The  volume  under  consideration  contains  "  a  book  of  son- 
nets," nearly  forty  in  number.  This  difficult  form  of  verse 
imposed  a  restraint  that  was  helpful  in  our  author's  tendency 
to  diffuseness,  and  taken  all  together,  the  sonnets  may  be  re- 
garded, perhaps,  as  his  most  artistic  work.  Most  of  them,  as  a 
prefatory  note  informs  us,  were  composed  during  the  Civil  War ; 
but  only  two  or  three  deal  with  martial  themes.  The  sonnet 
De  Profundis  is  given: — 

"  Out  of  the  depths  my  cry  ascends  to  Thee — 
Save  or  I  perish!  I  have  smote  in  vain 
The  waves  that  compass  me  about,  and  gain 
Upon  me  in  the  darkness  on  the  sea. 

"  Long  since  the  last  light  died  away:     I  flee 

Prom  roaring  seas  that  do  my  soul  affright, 
Yet  know  not  where  mine  anchorage  may  be, 

And  steer  all  starless  through  the  storm  and  night. 

"My  heart  not  yet  despairs  of  succor  quite; 

Since  Thou  canst  still  the  waters,  and  supply 
New  strength,  fresh  hope,  a  sure  and  steady  light, 

And  havens  where  the  mariner  may  hie, 
And  find  in  Thee  such  warmth,  and  light,  and  life, 
As  quite  repay  his  heart  for  all  its  pain  and  strife." 

Under  the  division  of  miscellaneous  poems,  which  constitute 
the  third  part  of  the  book,  we  meet  with  such  themes  as  The 
Southern  Heart,  Love's  Light,  The  Sword  of  Lee,  The  Brook's 
Voice,,  and  many  others  of  a  similar  kind.  Heart's  Ease  is  a 
brief  lyric  of  merit: — 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  211 

"  How  sweet  is  the  breath  of  even, 
With  sudden  dash  of  the  rain; 
How  blest  is  the  balm  of  heaven 
On  brow  and  brain! 

"  O  heart  that  was  hoar  and  ashen, 
And  fevered  with  many  fears, 
How  softer  ri  thy  pang  and  passion 
In  rain  of  tears!  " 

In  1883,  Mr.  Gregory  published  a  second  volume  under  the 
title  Lenore  and  Other  Poems.  This  work  is  made  up  of  origi- 
nal poems  and  translations,  for  the  author  was  familiar  with 
Latin,  French,  and  German.  The  title  poem  is  a  rendering  of 
Burger's  famous  ballad.  It  is  introduced  by  a  sketch  of  the 
German  poet  and  a  brief  account  of  other  translations,  nearly 
a  dozen  in  number.  The  best  known  of  these  versions  is  that  of 
Sir  Walter  Scott,  though  it  is  not  the  most  faithful  to  the 
original.  A  comparison  with  the  original  shows  that  our  au- 
thor's version  retains  the  metre  and  rhyme  of  the  German.  It 
is  an  excellent  piece  of  work,  and  deserves  to  rank  with  the  very 
best  translations  that  have  been  made  of  the  ghostly  ballad. 
Only  the  opening  stanza  can  be  given: — 

"  Lenore  from  dark  and  dreary  dreams 

Awakes  as  morn  is  burning; 
'Love,  hast  thou  died,  or  changed,  she  cried, 

'  So  long  thou  art  returning? ' 

He  was  with  royal  Frederick's  arms, 

Engaged  in  bloody  Prague's  alarms; 

Yet  had  no  word  nor  token 

The  soldier's  safety  spoken." 

The  Roman  Lawyer  in  Jerusalem  is  a  delightful  poem  in 
blank  verse.  It  shows  the  influence  of  Browning,  though  the 
poem  is  a  sequel  and  reply  to  a  poem  of  the  same  title  pub- 


212  POET8  OF  VIRGINIA 


lished  by  William  Wetmore  Story  in  Blaclcwood's  Magazine  in 
1870.  A  prose  introduction  acquaints  us  with  the  circumstances 
under  which  it  was  written.  Mr.  Story's  poem  argues  "that 
Judas,  believing  the  Christus  to  be  God,  impatient  at  the  delay 
in  His  vindication  as  such,  .  .  was  led  by  a  hot  and  impul- 
sive temper  into  thrusting  the  issue  of  an  open  claim  and  proof 
of  Godhead  upon  his  Master,  in  the  firm  faith  of  witnessing  a 
glorious  and  triumphant  conclusion." 

It  is  the  purpose  of  Mr.  Gregory's  poem  to  controvert  this 
old  and  fanciful  notion,  and  to  vindicate  the  popular  belief  in 
the  treachery  of  Judas.  It  recounts  in  graphic  style  the  closing 
scenes  of  our  Savior's  life.  The  remorse  of  Judas  is  taken  as 
proof  of  his  base  treachery.  Peter  had  sinned  and  been  for- 
given : — 

"  And  so  might  Judas  have  come  back,  except 
He  knew  his  deed  was  treason,  and  he  died 
While  yet  the  whirlwind  of  remorse  obscured 
The  star  of  Heavenly  pardon.     So  he  passed 
To  his  own  place,  destroyer,  self-destroyed." 

Miss  Marr.— Miss  Fannie  H.  Marr,  of  Warrenton,  Va.,  has 
two  volumes  of  poetry  to  her  credit.  The  first,  called  Heart- 
Life  in  Song,  was  published  in  Richmond  in  1880;  the  other, 
entitled  Virginia  and  Other  Poems,  was  brought  out  the  follow- 
ing year  in  Philadelphia.  These  volumes  deal  with  plain, 
homely  themes,  as  may  be  judged  from  such  titles  as  Old  Let- 
ters,  Family  Portraits,  To  My  BooTcs,  Summer  Evening.  They 
show  a  good  degree  of  poetic  feeling  and  literary  skill;  and  if 
there  is  a  tendency  to  diifuseness,  we  always  find  a  pure  and 
gentle  spirit. 

In  the  preface  of  one  of  the  volumes  we  read  the  sources 
from  which  she  drew  inspiration: — 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  213 

"  For  I  have  not  sought  in  volumes 

Dim  and  musty  with  old  age, 
And   as    quaint    as    ancient   fashions, 

Themes  and  stories  for  my  page; 
I  have  only  tried  to  gather, 

As  in  lavish  waste  they  lay, 
Thoughts  and  lessons  lightly  pictured 

On  the  fresh  leaves  of  to-day." 

A  religious  sentiment  is  dominant  with  nothing  of  the  doubts 
and  vagaries  of  modern  scepticism.  In  a  time  of  theological 
unrest  and  innovating  beliefs,  she  preferred  to  follow  the  old 
paths : — 

"  For  I  love  the  old,  worn  pathways 
That  I  know  are  tried  and  true; 
Our   own   dead   have   passed   along  them 

To  the  temple  wide  and  new. 
Other  teachings  upward  leading, 

Other  pathways  there  may  be; 
But  the  faith  our  fathers  died  in 
Is  the  only  faith  for  me." 

In  A  Simile  the  poetess  gives  expression  to  Augustine's 
thought  that  the  human  soul  was  made  for  God,  and  is  never 
entirely  at  peace  till  it  finds  Him : — 

"  The  restless  water  strives 

And  struggles  in  its  course; 
Its  single,  constant  aim  to  reach 
The  level  of  its  source. 

"And  so  the  fettered  soul, 

,  Through  mist,  and  film,  and  clod, 
Is  ever  striving  to  attain 

Its  source  and  fountain — God." 

The  title  poem  of  the  second  volume  was  inspired  by  a  tender, 
patriotic  love;  and  perhaps  nowhere  else  have  the  glories  of 


214  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 


Virginia  been  more  fully  and  successfully  sung.  It  is  divided 
into  eight  brief  parts,  the  second  of  which  begins  with  this 
apostrophe : — 

"  Virginia,  queen  and  princess  of  the  States, 

The  friend  of  freedom,  and  oppression's  foe; 
Virginia,  on  whose  footsteps  Honor  waits, 
Virginia,  great  alike  in  weal  and  woe, 
What  splendors,  like  a  halo,  round  thee  gleam, 
What  grandeur  dwells  within  thy  very  name!  " 

In  Life  the  author  reaches  as  high  a  strain  as  in  any  other  of 
her  pieces.  She  believes  in  the  worth  and  dignity  of  life,  and 
"  the  boon  of  immortality." 

"Strip  life  of  its  externals;  lay  it  bare 

Of  honor,  wealth,  and  comfort;  yet  ff  free 
From  crime's  polluting  touch,  it  still  is  fair, — 

Aye  more, — 'tis  great  and  glorious  to  be. 
With  lips  of  dust  to  draw  the  kingly  breath, 

Whose  source  and  fountain  is  eternity; 
And,  sheathed  in  mail  impregnable  to  death, 

As  God,  and  angels,  and  just  men, — to  be. 

"  O  mortal,  where  and  whatsoe'er  thou  art, 

Outcast  and  banned,  this  yet  remains  to  thee; 
Lift  up  thy  drooping  head,  and  let  thine  heart 

Rejoice  in  that  thou  art — rejoice  to  be! 
O  peer  and  mate  of  angels,  even  now 

A  radiant  light  on  thy  lone  path  doth  shine; 
A  crown  of  glory  rests  upon  thy  brow, — 

The  boon  of  immortality  is  thine!  " 

Samuel  Selden. — A  small  volume  of  Poems  was  published  in 
Norfolk  in  1880  by  Dr.  Samuel  Selden.  The  author  had  been 
reared  in  that  city,  where  he  was  born  in  1834.  He  descended 
from  English  stock  that  has  always  maintained  high  social  dis- 
tinction in  the  Old  Dominion.  He  was  graduated  at  Harnpden- 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  215 

Sidney  College,  and  afterwards  took  his  degree  in  medicine  in 
Charleston,  S.  C.,  in  1861.  He  practiced  his  profession  in  his 
native  city;  and  when  he  died  there  in  1880,  he  was  generally 
lamented  for  his  ability  and  virtue. 

Dr.  Selden  possessed  poetic  gifts  of  no  mean  order.  It  is  to 
be  regretted  that  failing  health  in  his  later  years  interfered 
with  his  literary  work.  He  had  the  gift  of  high  thought  with 
the  grace  of  artistic  expression.  We  need  only  to  read  verses 
like  the  following  in  The  City  of  Pestilence  to  see  that  he  has 
the  rare  power  of  ennobling  the  commonplace: — 

"Lo!     Summer  dies;   woods  change  their  hue; 

The  weeping  skies  are  gray  and  cold, 
And  russet  Autumn  hastes  to  strew 

Its  bier  with  leaves  of  brown  and  gold. 

"  Through  forest  dome  and  mossy  aisles, 

Winds  mutter  dirges  wild  and  dread, 
Like  priests  in  glowing  Gothic  piles 

Chaunting  their  masses  o'er  the  dead., 

"  The  faded  blossoms  noiseless  fall 

In  songless  bowers  and  garden  sere, 
And  curling  from  the  chimneys  tall 

The  smoke-clouds  blue  the  city's  air." 

A  Memorial  Ode  contains  an  excellent  estimate  of  the  char- 
acter of  General  Eobert  E.  Lee: — 

"  By  gentle  deeds  and  fortitude  most  rare, 

Without  repinings  in   adversity, 
He  showed  how  human  virtue  should  upbear 
Against  sad  destiny. 

"  With  silvered  head  and  in  his  fame's  full  noon, 

The  peerless  Captain  of  the  bloody  strife, 
He  leaves  posterity  the  priceless  boon, 
A  grand,  heroic  life." 


216  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 


Now  and  Then  is  a  poetic  expansion  of  the  Gospel  story  of 
Dives  and  Lazarus.  God  does  not  see  as  man  sees: — 

"  He  sees  the  king  beneath  the  beggar's  guise, 

The  beggar  in  the  monarch's  robe  and  crown; 
Man's  verdict  is  reversed  beyond  the  skies; 
The  smile  succeeds  the  frown. 

"  The  widow's  mite  is  costlier  in  his  sight 

Than  royal  purple  robes  or  sparking  gems, 
And  virtue  struggling  with  grim  want  and  blight, 
Above  all  diadems." 

Cypress  and  PI  oily  is  an  elegy  for  a  loved  one,  the  news  of 
whose  death  at  sea  suddenly  turned  glad  expectations  into 
mourning : — 

"  All  day  the  sea-gulls  o'er  thee  screamv 

And  ships,  strange  ships,  above  thee  sail; 
At  night  wild  winds  their  dirges  wail, 
And  waves  in  moonlit  splendors  gleam. 

"  The  spring  will  come  with  scented  gales, 
And  wake  the  rills,  the  buds  unfold, 
And  birds  on  wings  of  red  and  gold 
Will  carol  in  thy  native  vales. 

"  But  ah!  no  voice  thy  sleep  can  break, 
Or  to  the  dead  restore  their  ghosts, 
But  His  who,  girt  with  angel  hosts, 
Shall  come  in  pomp  and  bid  thee  wake." 

The  second  half  of  the  book  is  taken  up  with  sonnets,  which 
he  handled  with  skill.  In  Walking  by  Faith,  for  example,  apt 
thought  is  wedded  to  fitting  form: — 

"  How  gropes  the  soul  that  walks  by  outward'  sight, 
That  in  its  restless  yearnings  and  sore  needs 
Still  clings  to  rituals  or  human  creeds, 

Nor  finds  the  source  of  inward  strength  and  light! 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  217 

"Our  pomps  and  forms,  alas!  they  but  enthrall, 
Or  often  darken  where  they  would  illume; 

Oft  prove  truth's  broidered  shroud,  or  velvet  pall, 
Or  splendid  sculptures  that  adorn  its  tomb! 

"  Walk  thou  by  faith,  not  sight;  trust  not  thine  eyes: 
As  one  who  climbs  the  Alps,  wild,  steep,  and  grand, 

Resigns  the  rein  and  on  the  guide  relies, — 
So  in  thy  journey  toward  the  Better  Land, 

When  chasms  yawn,  or  blinding  storms  arise, 
Then,  child-like,  clasp  thy  Father's  hand." 

Abrani  J.  Byan. — Abram  J.  Ryan,  better  known  as  Father 
Kyan,  belongs  to  the  South  rather  than  to  Virginia,  his  native 
State.  His  poems,  the  slow  accumulation  of  years,  were  first 
brought  together  in  1880.  The  poet  modestly  wished  to  call 
them  verses ;  and,  as  he  tells  us,  they  "were  written  at  random, — 
off  and  on,  here,  there,  anywhere, — just  as  the  mood  came,  with 
little  of  study  and  less  of  art,  and  always  in  a  hurry."  His 
poems  do  not  exhibit  a  painstaking,  polished  art.  They  are 
largely  the  emotional  outpourings  of  a  heart  that  readily  found 
expression  in  fluent,  melodious  lays.  The  poet-priest  under- 
stood their  character  too  well  to  assign  them  a  very  high  place 
in  the  realm  of  song ;  yet  the  wish  he  expressed,  that  they  might 
echo  from  heart  to  heart  has  been  fulfilled  in  no  small  degree. 
In  Sentinel  Songs  he  says: — 

"  I  sing  with  a  voice  too  low 

To  be  heard  beyond  to-day, 
In  minor  keys  of  my  people's  woe, 
But  my  songs  pass  away. 

"  To-morrow  hears  them  not — 

To-morrow  belongs  to  fame — 
My  songs,  like  the  birds',  will  be  forgot, 
And  forgotten  shall  be  my  name. 


218  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 


"  And  yet  who  knows  ?    Betimes 

The  grandest  songs  depart, 

While  the  gentle,  humble,  and  low-toned   rhymes 
Will  echo  from  heart  to  heart." 

Abram  J.  Eyan  was  born  in  Norfolk,  Virginia,  August  15, 
1839,  whither  his  parents,  natives  of  Ireland,  had  immigrated 
not  long  before.  He  possessed  the  quick  sensibilities  charac- 
teristic of  the  Celtic  race;  and  his  love  for  Ireland  is  reflected 
in  a  stout  martial  lyric  entitled  Erin's  Flag : — 

"Lift  it  up!  lift  it  up!  the  old  Banner  of  Green! 
The  blood  of  its  sons  has  but  brightened  its  sheen; 
What  though  the  tyrant  has  trampled  it  down, 
Are  its  folds  not  emblazoned  with  deeds  of  renown?" 

•  When  he  was  seven  or  eight  years  of  age,  his  parents  removed 
to  St.  Louis.  He  is  said  to  have  shown  great  aptitude  for 
learning,  and  in  due  course  of  time  he  entered  the  priest- 
hood of  the  Eoman  Catholic  Church.  His  theological  studies 
left  a  deep  impression  on  his  poetry.  He  not  only  treats  of 
Scripture  themes,  as  in  St.  Stephen,  The  Master's  Voice,  and 
A  Christmas  Chant,  but  he  also  finds  subjects,  not  always  hap- 
pily, in  the  distinctive  beliefs  of  his  church. 

On  the  outbreak  of  the  Civil  War,  Father  Ryan  entered  the 
Confederate  army  as  a  chaplain,  though  his  martial  ardor  some- 
times led  him  to  serve  in  the  ranks.  His  martial  songs,  such 
as  The  Sword  of  Robert  Lee,  The  Conquered  Banner,  to  which 
reference  was  made  in  a  former  chapter,  and  the  March  of  the 
Deathless  Dead,  have  been  dear  to  many  Southern  hearts.  He 
long  refused  to  accept  the  results  of  the  war.  The  wrongs 
of  the  so-called  Eeconstruction  period  aroused  his  ardent  in- 
dignation, and  found  utterance  in  his  song.  But  during  the 
epidemic  of  yellow  fever  in  1878,  his  heart  was  touched  by  the 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  219 

splendid    generosity    of    the    North;    and,    surrendering    his 
sectional  prejudice  and  animosity,  he  wrote  Reunited: — 

"  Purer  than  thy  own  white  snow, 

Nobler  than  thy  mountains'  height; 
Deeper  than  the  ocean's  flow, 

Stronger  than  thy  own  proud  might; 
O  Northland!  to  thy  sister  land, 
Was  late  thy  mercy's  generous  deed  and  grand." 

The  prevailing  tone  of  Father  Eyan's  poetry  is  one  of  sadness. 
His  harp  rarely  vibrated  to  cheerful  strains.  What  was  the 
cause  of  this  sadness?  It  may  have  been  his  keen  sense  of  the 
tragic  side  of  human  life;  it  may  have  been  the  enduring 
anguish  that  came  from  the  tragic  romance — the  crucified 
love — of  his  youth.  The  poet  himself  refused  to  tell.  In 
Lines — 1875  he  says: — 

"  Go  list  to  the  voices  of  air,  earth,  and  sea, 
And  the  voices  that  sound  in  the  sky; 
Their  songs  may  be  joyful  to  some,  but  to  me 
There's  a  sigh  in  each  chord  and  a  sigh  in  each  key, 
And  thousands  of  sighs  swell  their  grand  melody. 
Ask  them  what  ails  them:  they  will  not  reply. 
They  sigh — sigh  forever — but  never  tell  why. 
Why  does  your  poetry  sound  like  a  sigh? 
Their  lips  will  not  answer  you;  neither  shall  I." 

Yet,  in  spite  of  the  prevailing  tone  of  sorrow  and  weariness. 
Father  Eyan  was  no  pessimist.  He  held  that  life  has  "  more  of 
sweet  than  gall " — 

"  For  every  one :  no  matter  who — 

Or  what  their  lot — or  high  or  low; 
All  hearts  have  clouds — but  heaven's  blue 

Wraps  robes  of  bright  around  each  woe; 
And  this  is  truest  of  the  true: 


220  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 


"  That  joy  is  stronger  here  than  grief, 

Fills  more  of  life,  far  more  of  years, 

And  makes  the  reign  of  sorrow  brief; 

Gives  more  of  smiles  for  less  of  tears. 

Joy  is  life's  tree — grief  but  its  leaves." 

Father  Eyan  conceived  of  the  poet's  office  as  something  seer- 
like  or  prophetic.  With  him,  as  with  all  great  poets,  the  mes- 
sage counted  for  more  than  do  rhythm  and  rhyme.  Divorced 
from  truth,  art  seemed  to  him  but  a  skeleton  masque.  He  pre- 
ferred those  melodies  that  ,rise  on  the  wings  of  thought,  and 
come  to  human  hearts  with  an  inspiration  of  faith  and  hope. 
He  regarded  genuine  poets  as  the  high  priests  of  Nature.  Their 
sensitive  spirits,  holding  themselves  aloof  from  common  things, 
habitually  dwell  upon  the  deeper  mysteries  of  life  in  something 
of  a  morbid  loneliness.  In  Poets  he  says : — 

"  They  are  all  dreamers ;  in  the  day  and  night 

Ever  across  their  souls 

The  wondrous  mystery  of  the  dark  or  bright 
In  mystic  rhythm  rolls. 

"  They  live  within  themselves — they  may  not  tell 

What  lieth  deepest  there; 
Within  their  breast  a  heaven  or  a  hell, 
Joy  or  tormenting  care. 

"  They  are  the  loneliest  men  that  walk  men's  ways, 

No  matter  what  they  seem; 

The  stars  and  sunlight  of  their  nights  and   days 
Move  over  them  in  dream." 

With  Wordsworth,  or  rather  with  the  great  Apostle  to  the 
Gentiles,  he  held  that  Nature  is  but  the  vesture  of  God,  beneath 
which  may  be  discerned  the  divine  glory  and  love.  The  visible 
seemed  to  him  but  an  expression  of  the  invisible : — 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  221 

' '  For  God  is  everywhere — and  he  doth  find 
In  every  atom  which  His  hand  hath  made 
A  shrine  to  hide  His  presence,  and  reveai 
His  name,  love,  power,  to  those  who  kneel 
In  holy  faith  upon  this  bright  below, 
And  lift  their  eyes,  thro'  all  this  mystery, 
To  catch  the  vision  of  the  great  beyond." 

With  this  view  of  Nature,  it  was  but  natural  that  its  sounds 
and  forms — its  birds  and  flowers — should  inspire  devotion.  In 
St.  Mary's,  speaking  of  the  songs  and  silences  of  Nature,  he 
says : — • 

"  God  comes  close  to  me  here — 
Back  of  every  roseleaf  there 
He  is  hiding — and  the  air 
Thrills  with  calls  to  holy  prayer; 

Earth  grows  far,  and  heaven  near. 

"  Every  single  flower  is  fraught 
With  the  very  sweetest  dreams, 
Under  clouds   or  under  gleams 
Changeful  ever — yet  meseems 

On  each  leaf  I  read  God's  thought." 

It  can  hardly  be  said  that  Father  Eyan  reaches  lofty  poetic 
heights.  Neither  in  thought  nor  diction  does  he  often  rise 
above  cultured  commonplace.  Fine  artistic  quality  is  sup- 
planted by  a  sort  of  melodious  fluency.  Yet  the  form  and  tone 
of  his  poetry,  nearly  always  in  one  pensive  key,  make  a  distinct 
impression,  unlike  that  of  any  other  American  singer.  Having 
once  caught  his  distinctive  note  of  weary  melancholy,  we  can 
recognize  it  among  a  chorus  of  a  thousand  singers.  It  is  to  his 
honor  that  he  has  achieved  a  distinctive  place  in  American 
poetry.1 

1A  more  extended  study  of  Father  Ryan  will  be  found  in  the 
author's  Poets  of  the  south. 


222  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 


Aldine  S.  Kieffer. — Among  the  poets  of  the  great  Valley  of 
Virginia  a  high  place  must  be  assigned  to  Aldine  S.  Kieffer. 
He  had  the  gift  of  poetic  thought  and  poetic  utterance;  and 
though  he  did  not  essay  any  lofty  themes,  he  has  sung  much 
that  appeals  to  the  heart  and  experience  of  humanity.  His 
art  is  much  beyond  that  commonly  found  among  our  writers  of 
verse. 

Though  born  in  Missouri,  Mr.  Kieffer  spent  his  life  in  Vir- 
ginia. His  early  educational  advantages  were  meager;  but  a 
thirst  for  knowledge,  imbibed  at  his  mother's  knee,  and  fostered 
in  his  grandfather's  study,  made  him  in  the  course  of  time  a 
well-read  man,  especially  in  history  and  poetry.  The  latter 
was  with  him  a  passion;  and  through  the  years  he  stored  his 
memory  with  the  richest  treasures  of  the  major  English  poets. 
He  began  to  write  for  the  press  at  fourteen,  and  at  eighteen  he 
edited  the  Musical  Advocate — facts  that  exhibit  at  the  same 
time  his  literary  bent  and  his  literary  capacity. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  Civil  War  he  enlisted  in  the  army  of 
Northern  Virginia,  and  was  under  fire  at  Manassas  July  21, 
1861 — a  date  which  he  afterwards  observed  as  a  memorable 
anniversary.  His  martial  experience  is  reflected  in  a  number 
of  poems.  In  the  preface  to  his  Hours  of  Fancy  published  in 
1881  he  says :  "  There  are  verses  relating  to  incidents  of  the 
late  war  published,  not  for  hate's  sake,  but  because  their  author 
lived  and  wrote  and  suffered  during  the  years  when — 

"Red  war  smote  the  land 
With  shock  of  battle  and  with  flood  of  flame/' 

and  for  their  appearance  in  this  volume  he  makes  no  apology." 
No  apology  is  needed;  for  in  the  various  war  poems  there  is 
no  bitterness  of  hate  or  murmurings  at  the  decrees  of  Heaven. 
The  first  and  longest  of  the  poems  is  called  Three  Vigils, 
and  tells  the  story  of  a  presentiment  before  the  battle  of  Fred- 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  223 

ericksburg.     A  soldier  was  standing  sentinel  beneath  a  pine 
on  the  banks  of  the  Eappahannock : — 

"  Once  when  the  river  hushed  her  moan, 
And  brighter  beamed  the  stars  that  shone 
On  yonder  wold  and  wooded  hill, 
And  Nature  whispered,  '  Peace,  be  still!  ' 
I  heard,  or  thought  I  heard,  my  name 

Three  syllabled  in  tones  divine, 
As  from  the  South  the  soft  wind  came 

That  waked  the  dreaming,  whispering  pine. 
And  then,  a  small  hand  clasped  my  own, 
But,  oh!  the  touch  was  cold  as  stone: 
A  moment,  and  it  slipped  away, 
Whilst  denser  darkness  round  me  lay." 

The  sentinel  recognizes  the  mysterious  whispering  and  hand- 
clasp as  a  premonition  of  death,  and  exacts  a  promise  from  his 
two  friends  to  bury  him  beneath  the  pine.  This  was  done  after 
the  terrible  battle  of  the  following  day;  and  now — 

"  Above  his  silent  dust  the  pine 
Pours  forth  its  mystic  strains  divine, 
As  summer's  breeze  sighs  o'er  the  plain, 
Or  winter  wails  his  wild  refrain. 
And  after  days  the  fact  revealed 
That  on  the  night  his  doom  was  sealed,   \ 
His  loved  one's  spirit  passed  away 
Thro'  death's  dark  portals  into  day." 

The  Phantom  Bride,  as  the  title  suggests,  is  a  weird  ballad, 
and  admirably  wrought  out. 

A  sad  undertone  pervades  the  volume  before  us.  The  tragedy 
of  life  often  weighs  upon  the  author's  heart;  and  then  there  is 
a  frequent  and  tender  sigh  for  the  loss  of  an  early  love. 
Is  this  recurring  lament  a  poetic  fiction  or  an  overshadowing 
experience?  So  far  as  the  poetry  is  concerned,  it  makes  but 


224  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA. 


little  difference;  and  in  most  hearts  there  are  sweet  memories 
and  tender  regrets;  fanciful  pictures  of  what  might  have  been. 
And  though  it  is  not  well  to  live  too  much  in  such  memories, 
they  often  give  rise  to  a  poesy  that  invests  life  with  a  subdued 
delicacy  and  fragrance.  In  A  Rhapsody,  our  author  muses  on 

our  sad  years, — 

"  Which  glide  away 
Like  ships  that  bear  our  treasure  out  to  sea," 

and  perceives  that  hope  *after  hope  decays,  and  finds  "  no  coro- 
nal of  joy  before  he  dies": — 

"  And  yet,  beneath  the  stars,  upon  the  hills, 

By  darkness  shrouded,  and  from  men  removed, 
I  hear  the  ripple  of  the  silver  rills 

And  voices  whispering,  as  if  they  reproved 
The  wayward  thoughts  that  fill  a  wayward  soul; 

While  a  mysterious  something — undefined — 
Awes  my  whole  being,  and  with  sweet  control 

Speaks  this  mild  language  to  my  tortured  mind: 

' '  The  world  owes  more  to  Crosses  than  to  Crowns; 

More  to  the  thorn  than  to  the  laurel  leaf; 
Less  to  the  princess  in  her  tinseled  gowns 

Than  to  the  widow  in  her  rags  and  grief; 
So  quiet  thee,  poor  soul,  and  tread  thy  way, 

Though  rough  the  path,  by  Sorrow's  night  o'ercast, 
And  learn  'tis  well  that  earthly  hopes  decay, 

And  sink  into  the  Dead  Sea  of  the  past!  ' " 

An  Autumn  Idyl  breathes  a  deep  sympathy  with  the  soul  of 
Nature;  but  at  the  same  time  the  beautiful  objects  about  the 
poet  recall  the  long  years  ago,  when — 

"  Two  forms  once  stood  where  the  one  stands  now." 

But  there  is  a  sweet  hope  that  illumines  his  sadness — the  hope 
of  meeting  in  the  beautiful  spirit  land : — 


JAMES  BARRON  HOPE 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  225 

"  We  met  no  more!  and  yet  we  shall  meet 

Somewhere,  some  day.     In  the  far-off  clime 

Our  hands  shall   clasp  and  our  souls  shall   greet 
The  mystic  measure  of  Love's  sweet  rhyme, 

Where  no  sad  sound  of  an  Autumn  night 

Shall  smite  the  hills  of  endless  delight." 

There  are  several  poems  on  Scripture  themes — Hagar  and 
Islimael,  By  Babel's  Stream,  Jacob's  Well — which  contain  more 
poetry  than  is  usually  found  in  such  verse.  Though  the  pre- 
vailing tone  of  the  poetry  is  in  the  minor  key,  we  find  here  and 
there  a  bugle  note  calling  men  to  heroic  combat.  The  Moun- 
tain Pine  suggests  a  splendid  type  of  manhood: — 

"  God  give  us  men!  like  the  noble  pine, 

Who  will  wear  their  robes  of  green, 
Though  others  whine  and  sadly  repine 

When  adversity's  blasts  blow  keen: 
Brave  men  who  carry  their  youth  along 

Far  into  the  winter  of  age, 
And  blend  their  voices  in  cheerful  song, 

Though  fierce  the  tempest  may  rage." 

Many  of  the  minor  lyrics  have  been  set  to  music;  but  though 
many  of  them  possess  poetic  beauty,  there  is  no  other  that  has 
been  so  popular  as  Twilight  is  Falling.  The  melody  is  happily 
wedded  to  the  words,  and  the  song  has  been  sung  in  all  parts 
of  our  country: — 

"  Twilight  is  stealing 

Over  the  sea, 
Shadows  are  falling 

Dark  on  the  lea; 
Borne  on  the  night-winds 

Voices  of  yore 
Come  from  the  far-off  shore. 

P.  of  Va.— 15 


226  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 


"  Far  away  beyond  the  starlit  skies, 
Where  the  love-light  never,  never  dies, 
Gleameth   a   mansion   filled   with   delight, 
Sweet,  happy  home  so  bright." 

Mr.  Kieffer  was  for  many  years  editor  of  the  Musical  Million, 
in  which  many  of  his  poems  originally  appeared. 


CHAPTEE  XVI 
Poets  from  1882  to  1889 

Sara  Henderson  Smith. — Mrs.  Sara  Henderson  Smith  was 
the  wife  of  General  Francis  H.  Smith,  of  the  Virginia  Military 
Institute.  From  her  grandmother  she  inherited  unusual  in- 
tellectual gifts;  and  as  her  poems  show,  she  attained  a  Chris- 
tian character  of  singular  delicacy  and  beauty: — 

"  Be  this  my  token  when  I  am  gone! 

Dimly  reflecting  His  heart  of  love, 
Tears  dried  from  eyes  that  had  still  wept  on, 

Dimming  with  shadows  the  light  above. 
And  love,  and  service,  and  life  complete, 
May  the  servant  rest  at  the  dear  Lord's  feet." 

In  1884  Mrs.  Smith  gave  to  the  world  a  small  volume  of 
verse  entitled  Up  to  the  Light,  with  Other  Religious  and  De- 
votional Poems.  The  title  poem  is  a  word  of  sweet  encourage- 
ment to  the  struggling  soul: — 

'"Up  to  the  light,'  through  doubts  and  fears — 
Up  through  the  mists  of  many  tears — 
Up  the  steep  ascent  whose  summits  rise 
Till  lost  in  the  blue  of  the  upper  skies; 
There,  in  the  realms  of  Eternal  day, 
Sorrow  and  sighing  shall  flee  away; 
Rough  or  lonely  the  path  may  be, 
Upward,  still  upward,  it  leads  to  Thee." 

Many  of  the  poems  give  the  keynote  in  a  text  from  Scripture. 
But  unlike  much  of  the  poetry  of  this  sort,  written  by  pious, 
earnest  spirits  without  special  literary  culture  and  training,  the 
poems  before  us  are  generally  pleasing  and  helpful.  As  in  the 

[227] 


228  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 


poetry  of  Keble,  there  is  always  delicacy  of  feeling,  and  often 
commonplace  truths  are  exalted  by  the  charm  of  poetic  ima- 
gery. Both  as  an  illustration  of  her  art  and  as  a  production 
well  worth  reading,  her  poem  What  is  Life  is  inserted  in  full : — 

"  I  saw  him  in  the  morn  of  life, 

A  noble,  generous  one — 
Floating  his  bark  on  pleasure's  sea, 

As  honor  steered  it  on — 
The  breath  of  hope  had  swelled  the  sails, 

And  sunshine  o'er  it  hung — 
Away  it  sped  its  dazzling  course, 

While  carelessly  he  sung — 

"  Oh!    life  has  naught  but  happiness — 

Whate'er  the  wise  may  say — 
Its  freshness  and  its  bloom  from  me 
Can  never  pass  away. 

"  I  saw  him  then  at  summer  eve, 

He  bent  his  head  to  hear 
The  scarcely  uttered  words  which  fell 

Like  music  on  his  ear; 
A  lovely  girl  had  murmured  them, 

As  on  his  arms  she  hung, 
And  radiant  was  the  lover's  face 

As  once  again  he  sung — 

"Oh!   life  has  naught  but  happiness—- 

Whate'er  the  wise  may  say — 
Its  freshness  and  its  bloom  from  me 
Can  never  pass  away. 

"  I  saw  them  both  again,  and  she 
Was  trembling  at  his  side, 
And  solemn  were  the  words  by  which 

He  claimed  her  as  his  bride. 
A  crowd  of  friends  were  gathered  round. 

But  to  his  ear  there  sprung 
A  strain  his  lips  had  often  breathed 
When  joyfully  he  sung — 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  229 

"  Oh!   life  has  naught  but  happiness — 

Whate'er  the  wise  may  say — 
Its  freshness  and  its  bloom  from  me 
Can  never  pass  away. 

"  I  saw  his  happy  home — his  wife 

Was  o'er  an  infant  bent, 
Who,  to  his  matchless  smile,  a  look 

Of  answering  beauty  sent; 
He  gazed  upon  the  scene,  as  if 

His  earthly  hopes  were  flung 
Upon  these  frail  and  gentle  ones — 

And  then  once  more  he  sung! — 

"  Oh!   life  has  naught  but  happiness — 

Whate'er  the  wise  may  say — 
Its  freshness  and  its  bloom  from  me 
Can  never  pass  away. 

"  I  Eaw  a  mourner  stana  alone 

Beside  a  marble  tomb; 
One  flower  was  taken  in  the  bud, 

The  other  in  its  bloom — 
And  to  the  cherished  spot  he  brought 

A  heart  by  sorrow  wrung, 
But  a  watch  was  kept  by  angels  there, 

And  thus  the  spirits  sung — 

"  Oh!  life  has  many  a  bitter  cup — 

Whate'er  the  young  may  say — 
But  the  glory  and  the  peace  of  Heaven 
Will  never  pass  away." 

There  are  few  lives  into  which  such  tragedies  and  sorrows 
do  not  come. 

H.  C.  Parsons. — Oftener,  perhaps,  than  we  think,  are  the  in- 
terests of  business  and  the  love  of  the  muses  combined.  The 
Reaper  and  Other  Poems  is  an  attractive,  illustrated  volume  by 


230  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 


the  late  H.  C.  Parsons,  for  a  long  time  owner  of  the  Natural 
Bridge.  While  developing  that  historic  property  and  taking  a 
broad-minded  interest  in  the  advancement  of  Virginia,  his 
adopted  State,  he  kept  a  soul  responsive  to  the  beauties  of 
nature  and  to  the  tragedies  and  heroisms  of  human  life. 

The  volume  before  us  was  printed  only  for  private  circula- 
tion. In  a  prefatory  word  addressed  to  his  friends,  the  author 
tells  the  occasion  of  his  volume.  "  These  poems  were  written/' 
he  says,  "  because  the  writing  rested  me.  They  go  to  the  printer 
because  my  child  requests  it.  Let  no  one  think  that  I  am  self- 
deceived  or  deluded  into  new  paths  from  the  daily  work  that 
satisfies  my  need  and  my  ambition." 

But  the  poet  naturally  hopes  that  his  labors  will  not  be  en- 
tirely unappreciated.  "  Perhaps  in  the  warmth  of  your  fireside," 
he  continues,  "these  pages  may  glow  with  a  light  that  is  half 
their  own,  and  the  circle  draw  closer  and  the  hour  pass  pleas- 
antly; perhaps  one  who  reads  alone  may  find  something  here 
written  that  will  turn  his  thoughts  tenderly  to  the  Virginia 
mountains,  or  give  him  a  clearer  faith  or  a  braver  heart.  Then 
I  shall  be  glad." 

The  title  poem  is  a  tribute  to  Cyrus  H.  McCormick,  the  in- 
ventor of  the  reaper.  Owing  to  this  invention,  William  H. 
Seward  said,  "the  line  of  civilization  moved  westward  thirty 
miles  each  year." 

"  Well  hast  thou  won,  McCormick,  the  tribute  that  we  bring; 
Of  all  the  lords  of  labor  we  name  thee  as  the  king." 

The  Divided  House  seems  to  point  to  a  domestic  tragedy;  The 
Brown,  Blue,  and  Gray  are  maidenly  eyes  that  were  filled  with 
sadness  when  the  poet  went  away  from  home,  and  that  haunted 
him  during  all  his  absence.  How  Gretchen  Outrode  the  Flood 
describes  a  deed  of  heroism,  in  which  affection  triumphs  over 
danger  and  destruction.  Virginia  is  a  strong,  manly  appeal  to 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  231 

the  sons  of  the  Old  Dominion — the  best  piece  of  work  in  the 
book.     A  few  stanzas  are  quoted: — 

"  We  will  not  blame  the  past, 
Or  count  its  sad  illusions;  it  was  very  great 
To  found  and  wisely  rule  earth's  proudest  State; 
And  when  it  pleased  thee,  careless  of  thy  fate, 
To  smite  its  pillars  till  the  world  did  wait 
To  see  the  great  towers  fall. 

"  There  yet  is  time  to  learn, 

And   subjects   to  command.     The   swift  power  that  fills 
Thy  river-banks  shall  work  for  him  who  wills; 
And  black  slaves  prisoned  in  thy  lifted  hills 
Await  thy  order,  while  a  strong  life  thrills 
The  veins  of  all  thy  sons. 

"  Thy  treasures  are  not  told. 

Stores   of   coal   and   iron,    gold   and    salt,   and   oil 
Fill  shoreless  caverns,  and  thy  fountains  boil 
With  living  waters,  and  thy  unspent  soil 
Awaits  a  longer  plowshare;  for  their  mighty  toil 
Thy  subjects  are  impatient. 

"  But  know,  thy  sons  must  lead 
And  bravely  work!     No  white  hand  ever  broke 
The  padlock  of  the  hills;  no  gentle  stroke 
Makes  mountain  echoes  where,  in  fire  and  smoke, 
The  black-starred  crown  is  wrought,  and  forged  the  iron  yoke 
For  tribute-paying  people." 

There  are  a  half-dozen  other  poems  that  do  not  materially 
differ  in  quality  from  those  already  mentioned.  The  poetry  of 
Mr.  Parsons  is  characterized  by  strength  rather  than  by  exqui- 
site refinement.  In  his  more  ambitious  efforts  there  is  a  large- 
ness of  -conception  and  treatment  that  could  come  only  from  a 
broadly  cultured  and  practical  mind;  and  the  mastery  of  versi- 
fication is  surprising  in  an  author,  whose  principal  work  lay 
in  the  field  of  industrial  enterprise, 


232  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 


Mrs.  Winston. — Mrs.  Eosalie  Bankhead  Winston,  of  Fred- 
ericksburg,  Va.,  published  in  1885  a  small  volume  of  mingled 
prose  and  verse.  It  is  entitled  Pilate  s  Question;  or,  What  is 
Truth?  The  title  poem  is  a  slight  poetic  romance,  in  which 
the  authoress  italicizes  all  the  thoughts  and  sentiments — and 
they  are  very  numerous — which  she  regards  as  particularly  im- 
portant. It  is  divided  into  nine  brief  chapters,  and  the  story, 
after  running  its  course  like  a  novelette  in  prose,  reaches  a 
happy  ending.  The  hero  and  heroine  are  happily  married  at 
last  :— 

"And  much  of  earthly  joy  was  theirs; 
But  the  crowning  grace  of  all  was  this — 
They  did  not  live  alone  for  self  and 
Selfish  ends,  but  brightened  the  lives 
Of  all  around  them;  and  it  was  given 
Them  to  know  that  earthly  things  are 
Only  shadows  of  things  that  are, 
And  shall  be  in  the  far  ages  of  eternity." 

The  moral  sentiment  of  the  book  is  altogether  commendable 
and  wholesome ;  for  it  teaches,  "  as  old  Dinah  said  " — 

"  'Taint  the  outside  things 
That  makes  folks  happy  here" 

The  occasion  and  purpose  of  the  book  are  sufficiently  indi- 
cated in  the  preface.  "  I  am  induced,"  says  the  authoress,  "  by 
the  persuasion  of  many  friends,  to  cast  abroad  this  little  work, 
a  waif  on  life's  wild  waters,  in  the  earnest  hope  that  it  may  be 
the  bearer  of  some  word  of  comfort  to  the  seeker  after  truth. 
If  it  accomplishes  this  end,  I  shall  not  heed  the  rough  voice 
of  the  critic.  I  have  endeavored  to  bring  before  the  reader  in 
this  simple  story  '  the  old,  old  truth,'  that  we  fill  our  lives  with 
nothingness,  mistaking  the  false  for  the  true,  and  grasping  the 
shadow  for  the  substance." 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  233 

Graham  Claytor. — Law  and  literature  have  always  been 
closely  wedded  in  the  South.  An  illustration  is  found  in 
Otterdale;  or,  Pen  Pictures  of  Farm  Life,  and  Other  Poems 
published  by  the  Hon.  Graham  Claytor,  of  Liberty,  Va.,  in 
1885.  Mr.  Claytor  entered  upon  the  practice  of  law  at  the 
Bedford  bar  in  1878,  and  became  Commonwealth's  attorney  in 
1895.  He  made  occasional  excursions  into  politics,  and  was 
elected  State  senator  from  Bedford,  his  native  county,  in  1899. 
But  he  found  time,  in  the  midst  of  his  legal  duties,  to  indulge 
both  in  fiction  and  poetry.  Two  novels,  Pleasant  Waters  and 
Wheat  and  Tares,  besides  two  volumes  of  poetry,  stand  in  his 
name. 

The  general  character  of  Otterdale  is  indicated  in  its  alter- 
native title,  Pen  Pictures  of  Farm  Life.  The  author  was 
brough  up  in  an  old  ancestral  home  in  the  country,  the  charm 
of  which  is  reflected  in  the  precious  memories  of  receding  years. 
In  a  brief  prefatory  address  the  poet  invites  the  gentle  reader 
to— 

"  Leave  awhile  the  marts 
Of  busy  trade,  and  roam  with  me  about 
The  old  ancestral  home,  and  shout  along 
Its  ancient  halls  and  climb  its  winding  stairs; 
And  loiter  along  the  old  familiar  paths, 
Across  the  fields  to  church  and  school  and  mill; 
And  clamber  up  the  steep  and  lofty  cliffs, 
And  fish  and  bathe  within  the  limpid  streams, 
And  feel  again  the  glow  of  youthful  dreams." 

The  first  poem,  The  Old  Homestead,  is  a  tender  and  graphic 
picture  of  the  home  in  which  he  was  brought  up.  Every  tree 
surrounding  the  old  mansion  appears  before  his  mind  with  fond 
distinctness.  The  beehives  beneath  the  pear  tree  are  recalled 
again,  and  the  vine-clad  walks  that  stretch  between  the  well- 
tilled  squares  of  the  fertile  garden.  The  orchard  is  tenderly 
recalled,  with  all  the  merry  sport  associated  with  the  gathering 


234  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 


of  apples  and  the  rich  streaming  of  the  heavy  cider-press.  The 
landscape  of  the  famous  Piedmont  region,  as  it  appeared  from 
the  solid  structure  of  brick  and  stone  and  as  the  boy  had  often 
seen  it  from  "its  dormer  windows  tall/'  is  thus  portrayed: — 

"Behold!  a  broad  expanse  of  landscape  rich 
In  undulating  beauty  lies;  wild  wood 
And  gently  rolling  hills  and  verdant  fields 
And  laughing  brooks  fed  by  a  thousand  rills; 
And  all  along  the  horizon,  distant,  dim, 
A  circling  range  of  dark,  blue  mountains  rise 
In  dreamy  grandeur  to  the  mellow  sky." 

How  many  of  us,  who  have  reached  middle  life,  look  back 
with  delight  to  the  old  mill  in  the  country !  Its  scenes  and 
associations,  as  known  in  boyhood,  come  again  in  poetic  beauty. 
A  tender  sadness  creeps  into  the  heart  that  those  distant  joys 
can  return  no  more.  It  is  such  scenes  and  delights  that  the 
poet  depicts  for  us  in  The  Mill : — 

"  Moss-covered  roof  and  mildewed  walls 
And  battered  doors,  and  old  in  years,  it  stands 
A  sign  of  peace  and  plenty  in  the  land. 
'Tis  built  far  o'er  the  water,  yet  the  road 
Can  scarcely  pass  along  that  way — so  near 
The  towering  cliff  comes  down.     The  old  stone  dam 
Has  stood  against  a  hundred  rushing  floods;       ' 
So  smooth  and  evenly  the  water  falls 
That,  as  it  shimmers  in  the  silver  sheen 
Of  summer's  sun,  it  seems  a  moving  sheet 
Of  solid  crystal  clear,  and  here  all  day 
The  busy  clacking  of  the  wheel  is  heard." 

The  Harvest  portrays  scenes  which  agricultural  machinery 
is  making  more  and  more  rare,  when — 

"  All  the  neighboring  hands 
With  merry  song  and  gleaming  blades  go  forth 
To  reap  the  golden  grain." 

In  the  Sabbath  there  is  a  vivid  picture  of  a  religious  service 


8ECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  235 

in  a  country  church,  such  as  may  still  be  seen  in  communities 
that  are  somewhat  remote  from  the  main  currents  of  our  rushing 
life:— 

"  Long  ere  the  pastor  on  his  old  horse  comes, 
The  farmers  gather  in  from  neighboring  homes, 
Assemble  round  the  old  church  door,  and  sit 
Upon  the  grass,  or  roots  of  trees,  or  stones, 
Beneath  the  friendly  shade  of  ancient  oaks, 
And  gossip  there  until  the  '  church  begin.' " 

Feeding  the  Swine,  The  School,  and  Winter  all  contain  pleas- 
ing and  faithful  pictures  of  rural  life.  From  the  last  men- 
tioned poem  a  few  lines  are  given,  which  will  recall  fond  and 
pleasing  memories  to  many  a  one  whose  hair  is  being  silvered 
with  age: — 

"  Pile  on  the  wood,  and  fill  the  iron  dogs, 
And  let  the  flames  roar  up  the  chimney  wide, 
And  send  the  warmth  and  light  around  the  room! 
Here  oft  we  sit  far  in  the  silent  night, 
Our  lessons  con,  and  chestnuts  roast,  or  list 
To  weird  tales  of  goblins  and  of  ghosts; 
And  creep,  half  frightened,  in  the  dark  to  bed." 

The  remaining  poems  in  this  volume  scarcely  call  for  remark. 
They  are  not  equal  to  the  farm  pictures  we  have  been  consider- 
ing. The  extracts  given  show  us  wherein  Mr.  Claytor's  strength 
as  a  poet  chiefly  lies.  It  is  found  in  the  vivid  portrayal  of 
scenes  which  memory  invests  with  a  tender  poetic  light.  He 
was  not  gifted  with  a  high  lyrical  frenzy;  but  he  has  seen 
clearly  and  pictured  vividly  many  humble  scenes  that  appeal 
to  a  wide  human  experience.  His  verse  makes  delightful  and 
wholesome  reading. 


236  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 


Margaret  B.  Wren. — It  lias  been  the  misfortune  of  Virginia 
minstrelsy  that  it  rarely  has  been  taken  seriously.  It  has  been 
made  a  pastime,  but  not  a  vocation.  It  has  voiced  occasional 
moods  and  fancies,  but  has  not  uttered  the  deep,  sustained  sym- 
phonies of  a  mighty  heart  and  brain.  The  richest  treasures  of 
the  muses  are  granted  only  to  those  who  seek  them  with  the 
consecration  of  a  whole  life. 

Echoes  from  the  Heart  is  a  volume  of  verse  by  Margaret 
Breckinridge  Wren;  it  contains  two  hundred  and  fifty-nine 
pages,  and  was  published  in  Eichmond  in  1887.  "  This  mis- 
cellaneous collection,"  says  the  authoress,  "has  been  written 
at  different  periods, — just  when  the  mood  or  fancy  would  sug- 
gest,— often  under  difficulties,  and  at  all  times  with  little  bodily 
strength,  which  is  essential  to  any  successful  mental  effort." 
She  ventures  upon  publication  with  misgivings,  and,  as  so  many 
others  before  her  have  done,  at  the  "earnest  solicitations  of 
friends." 

The  poems  of  this  volume  are  mostly  subjective;  they  voice 
the  moods,  thoughts,  and  emotions  of  the  writer.  A  tinge  of 
sadness,  at  least  of  seriousness,  rests  upon  them  all.  A  little 
higher  poetic  quality  would  have  made  them  very  welcome  to 
pensive,  chastened  souls.  To  the  question  wliich  many  have 
asked,  Will  We  Knoiv  Our  Loved  Ones  There,  the  author  gives 
a  comforting,  affirmative  answer: — 

"  Ah !  as  truly  as  yon  heaven 

Stretches  far  its  great  expanse, 
And  as  truly  as  man  springeth 

From  God's  hand,  and  not  from  chance, — 
Just  so  truly  in  me  liveth 

The  belief  that  when  we  share 
In  the  blessings  of  the  blessed, 

We  will  know  our  loved  ones  there." 

Often  we  desire  to  know  the  secrets  of  the  future,  and  for- 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  237 

tune-telling  is  not  entirely  a  thing  of  the  past;  but,  after  all, 
it  is  well  that  the  veil  has  been  drawn  before  our  eyes : — 

"Ha!  'tis  well  we  cannot  borrow 
Anything  the  future  holds; 
Well  we  cannot  see  the  morrow, 
With  its  gladness  and  its  sorrow — 
Well  they're  hid  in  mystic  folds. 

"  Tis  a  wise  God  that  is  keeping 

Thus  from  sight  both  good  and  ill 
By  the  heavy  veil  that's  sweeping 
'Tween  us  and  the  years  now  sleeping — 
A  wise  God;  so,  hearts,  be  still!  " 

Sister  Agnes  is  a  poetic  romance  reminding  us  of  Father 
Ryan's  Their  Story  Runneth  Thus.  The  vow  of  a  nun  stands 
between  the  love  of  two  hearts  forever.  Virginia  is  a  passionate 
outcry  at  what  the  poetess  regarded  as  the  State's  dishonor  in 
the  triumph  of  the  Readjuster  movement  in  1882.  A  single 
stanza  is  quoted: — 

"  Weep  bitter  tears,  Virginia; 

For  never  more  you'll  see 
The  stranger  come,  as  oft  he's  done, 

To  make  his  home  with  thee. 
Ah,  no!  he'll  go  to  other  lands, 

Where  honor  none  forgets, 
And  where  men  do  not  think  it  wrong 

To  pay  their  honest  debts." 

The  change  of  administration  two  years  later  evoked  a  tri- 
umphant paean,  but  it  is  not  necessary  to  dwell  on  the  poetry 
of  partisan  politics. 

Amelie  Hives. — Miss  Amelie  Rives — now  Princess  Troubetz- 
koy — whose  early  life  was  spent  chiefly  at  Castle  Hill,  Albemarle 
County,  Va.,  is  a  woman  of  extraordinary  versatility  and  power. 


238  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 


She  is  an  adept  in  music  and  painting;  in  literature,  she  has 
essayed  the  novel,  the  drama,  and  lyric  poetry;  and,  as  old 
Dr.  Johnson  said  of  Goldsmith,  she  has  touched  nothing  which 
she  has  not  adorned. 

Her  writings,  whether  in  prose  or  poetry,  are  prevailingly 
subjective.  She  belongs  to  the  school  of  George  Eliot,  and  her 
method  as  a  novelist  may  be  designated  as  that  of  psychologic 
realism.  Her  stories  turn  upon  soul  experiences  and  transfor- 
mations rather  than  upon  outward  incidents.  In  the  choice  of 
incident,  as  in  the  straw-stack  scene  in  The  Quick  or  the  Dead, 
she  is  sometimes  wilful,  perverse,  and  intolerable.  But  in  pro- 
found spiritual  experiences,  as  in  the  regeneration  of  Tanis, 
the  Bang-Digger — an  altogether  strong  and  steady  piece  of 
work — she  is  frequently  admirable.  In  depicting  her  female 
characters,  she  has  dipped  her  pen,  more  or  less  deeply,  into 
her  own  heart.  She  exhibits  a  rare  insight  into  the  changing 
moods  and  motives  of  women;  and,  as  a  rule,  they  are  far  better 
individualized  and  far  more  interesting  than  her  men. 

It  is  to  be  regretted  that  Madame  Troubetzkoy  has  not  pub- 
lished a  volume  of  lyric  verse.  Scattered  through  our  leading 
magazines  there  are  many  short  poems  of  hers  that  reach  a 
high  degree  of  poetic  insight  and  artistic  expression.  In  A 
Mood,  published  in  Harper's,  1887,  we  have  a  picture  of  her 
wild,  free,  exultant  spirit  in  "the  sweet  weather  that  autumn 
brings  " : — 

"  For  wild  am  I  as  thy  winds  and  rains — 

Free  to  come  and  to  go  as  they; 
Love's  moon  sways  not  the  tides  of  my  veins; 

There  is  no  voice  that  can  bid  me  stay. 

Out  and  away  on  the  drenched  brown  lea! 

Out  to  the  great  glad  heart  of  the  year! 

Nothing  to  grieve  for,  nothing  to  fear; 
Fetterless,  flawless,  a  maiden  free!  " 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  239 

Love's  Seasons,  besides  teaching  that  "love-time  lasts  the 
year,"  contains  some  pretty,  descriptive  lines  on  the  various 
seasons.  She  caught  with  rare  fulness  and  accuracy  the  vary- 
ing forms  of  earth  and  sky,  and  has  depicted  them  with  the 
touch  of  a  gifted  artist.  Here  is  a  picture  of  summer: — 

"  All  heavy  hang  the  apple  boughs, 

Weighed  down  by  balls  of  yellow  gold; 
The  poppy  cups,  so  fiery  bright, 

Meseems  would  burn  the  hearts  they  hold. 
The  summer's  here,  the  summer's  here — 
The  kiss-time  of  the  year,  my  dear." 

In  her  poetry  our  authoress  is  not  often  didactic;  but  verses 
like  the  following,  found  in  Harper's,  1891,  might  well  make 
us  regret  that  she  has  not  oftener  essayed  the  high,  prophetic 
office : — 

"  Call  not  pain's  teaching  punishment:  the  fire 

That  lights  a  soul,  even  which  its  torture  blesses; 
The  sorrow  that  unmakes  some  old  desire, 
And  on  the  same  foundation  builds  a  higher, 
Hath  more  than  joy  for  him  who  acquiesces. 

"Ah,  darkness  teaches  us  to  love  the  light; 

Not  as  'tis  loved  by  children,  warm  abed, 
And  crying  for  the  toys  put  by  at  night, 
But  even  as  a  blinded  painter  might, 

Whose  soul  paints  on  in  dreams  of  radiance  fled." 

Grief  and  Faith  is  a  series  of  thirteen  sonnets  which  appeared 
in  Harper's  for  May,  1887.  It  is  a  poem  that  reveals  not  only 
high  gifts  of  poetic  thought  and  emotion,  but  also  a  rare  tech- 
nical mastery  of  poetic  form.  The  poem  is  a  sort  of  dramatic 
monologue,  in  which  a  husband  gives  utterance  to  an  over- 
whelming grief,  as  he  stands  by  the  lifeless  body  of  a  fair  and 
tenderly  cherished  wife.  It  repeats  the  lesson,  dwelt  on  by 


240  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 


Schiller,  Tennyson,  and  Browning,  of  the  imperishable  nature 
of  love.     In  the  silence  and  desolation  of  grief, — 

"  Thus  spake  her  soul  unto  my  listening  soul: 

'Peace,  peace,  beloved!     Love  can  never  die, 
Though  hearts  that  loved  be  dust.     Should  ages  roll 

Between  the  present  and  the  future,  I 
Will  hold  thee  more  mine  own  than  ere  this  dole 
Smote  us  like  lightning  from  a  cloudless  sky.' " 

But  the  principal  poetical  work  of  Amelie  Rives  is  Herod  and 
Mariamne,  a  drama  of  exceptional  intensity  of  feeling  and  ex- 
pression. It  is  a  drama  of  jealousy  and  crime,  based  on  the 
narrative  of  Josephus,  which  it  follows  with  sufficient  closeness 
in  its  incidents,  but  whose  shadowy  characters,  especially  the 
women,  it  invests  with  a  passionate,  personality.  Herod  is  por- 
trayed in  unrelieved  baseness,  and  his  frequent  and  sudden 
changes  from  loving  transports  to  murderous  jealousy  seem  too 
childish  to  be  credible  or  possible.  The  character  of  Mariamne, 
both  in  her  wifely  devotion  and  irreconcilable  hatred,  is  magnifi- 
cently depicted.  The  female  characters  in  general,  in  their 
contentions,  enmities,  and  jealous  schemings,  are  drawn  from 
nature. 

The  following  extract  is  taken  from  the  first  scene  of  the  first 
act;  it  shows  the  passionate  character  of  Herod,  the  queenly 
dignity  of  Mariamne,  and  the  beauty  of  that  wifely  devotion 
which  was  soon  to  be  turned  into  inappeasible  "hate  and  to  be 
ended  by  her  murder: — 

MAEIAMNE.    Why  dost  thou  doubt  me?    Why  should  I  not  love  thee, 
Who  art  the  chief  of  men  and  lovers?    Nay, 
If,  as  thou  sayest,  I  shrink,  it  is  because 
My  love  doth  fear  the  violence  of  thy  love, 
Not  I  thyself, — not  Mariamne  Herod. 

HEBOD.    Love  is  not  blind,  as  the  Greeks  fable  it, 

For  he  doth  look  from  these  fair  eyes  o'  thine, 
Else  am  I  Pleasure's  bondman. 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD 


241 


MAE.  .  Nay,  not  so. 

Thou'rt  husband  to  the  truest  wife  in  Jewry. 
HER.        And  the  least  loving. 
MAB.  Wilt  thou  wrong  me  still? 

I  know  not  how  to  dress  out  love  in  words. 

I  can  but  tell  thee  o'er  and  o'er  again 

The  naked  fact,  I  love  thee. 
HER.  Would  "to  heaven 

I  knew  what  loving- means  to  thee! 
MAR.  I'll  tell  thee: 

It  means  to  put  myself  beyond  myself, 

To  think  of  him  I  love  in  that  self's  stead, 

To  be  sleep's  enemy  because  of  him, 

Because  of  him  to  be  the  friend  of  pain, 

To  have  no  thought,  no  wish,  no  dream,  no  memory, 

That  is  not  servant  to  him;  to  forget 

All  earlier  loves  in  his, — all  hates,  all  wrongs; 

Being  meek  to  him,  though  proud  unto  all  others; 

Gentle  to  him,  though  to  all  others  harsh; 

To  him  submissive,  though  unto  high  heaven 

Something  rebellious.    Last,  to  keep  my  patience 

And  bear  his  doubts,  who  have  his  children  -borne. 
HER.        Enough,  enough.    Thou  most  magnificent 

Of  queens  and  women,  I  .will  never  doubt  thee 

After  to-day. 
MAR.  Alas,  my  lord,  to-morrow — 

To-morrow  '11  be  to-day. 
HER.  I  will  not  doubt  thee 

So  long  as  I  do  live. 
MAR.  Oh,  that  wouldst  not! 

Doubt  is  the  shaft  wherewith  Love  wounds  himself: 

Doubt  me  no  more,  and  be  no  more  unhappy." 

Apart  from  the  passion  and  development  of  the  plot,  there 
are  occasional  lines,  whose  felicity  of  thought  and  statement  fit 
them  to  become  the  current  coin  of  quotation.     Take,  for  ex- 
ample, these  lines: — 
P.  of  Va.— 16 


242  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 


"  For  when  queens  quarrel  kings  are  kings  in  vain." 
"  A  Herod  laughs  where  a  mere  man  would  weep." 
"  Doubt  is  the  shaft  wherewith  Love  wounds  himself." 
"  Who  rouses  hate  must  look  for  hell  to  follow." 

It  is  impossible  to  fortell  what  other  works  this  gifted  author- 
ess may  produce ;  but  she  has  already  written  enough  to  give  her 
a  high  place  in  Virginia  literature.  Let  us  hope  that  the  chasten- 
ings  of  time  and  sorrow  will  not  silence  her  muse,  but  call  forth 
a  still  deeper  and  richer  music. 

Thomas  Nelson  Page. — It  is  known,  perhaps,  to  few  of  the 
readers  of  Thomas  Nelson  Page's  books  that  he  is  a  poet  as  well 
as  novelist.  The  poetic  strain,  which  is  indeed  evident  in  his 
novels  and  negro  dialect  stories,  found  expression  in  due  metrical 
form  in  Befo'  the  War.  This  volume  which  was  published  in 
1888,  is  the  joint  work  of  Thomas  Nelson  Page  and  A.  C.  Gor- 
don, the  far  greater  part  of  the  brief  poems  being  the  composi- 
tion of  the  latter  author.  As  Mr.  Gordon's  gifts  as  a  poet  have 
been  discussed  elsewhere,  his  part  of  the  work  before  us  will  not 
come  under  review. 

The  half  dozen  poems  written  by  Mr.  Page,  among  which  are 
Uncle  Gdbe's  White  Follcs,  Little  Jack,  and  Marse  Phil  are 
closely  akin  to  the  prose  stories  of  In  Old  Virginia,  which 
appeared  a  year  earlier.  We  recognize  the  same  mastery  of  the 
negro  dialect,  the  same  keen  insight  into  the  negro  character, 
and  the  same  appreciation  of  the  pathetic  relations  often 
existing  between  master  and  slave.  If  the  stories  of  M ah  Lady 
and  Marse  Chan  might  be  easily  turned  into  verse,  the  poems 
of  Uncle  Gale's  White  Folks  and  Marse  Phil  might  with  equal 
ease  be  turned  into  charming  tales  in  prose. 

In  form  these  poems  are  dramatic  monologues,  with  an  old 
negro  servant  as  speaker.  This  form,  the  invention  of  which 
is  to  be  ascribed  to  Robert  Browning,  is  singularly  effective;  for 
it  gives  room  for  a  display  of  the  histrionic  talent — the  swift 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  243 

emotional  changes — belonging  to  the  negro  character.  A  little 
imagination  enables  us  to  see  the  varying  expression  of  face  and 
the  supple  courtesy  of  body,  which  characterize  the  negro  in  his 
anxiety  to  please. 

Two  or  three  stanzas  from  Uncle  Gabe's  White  Folks,  the 
first  poem  in  the  book,  must  suffice  by  way  of  illustration : — 

"  Sarvent,  Marster!     Yes,  sah,  dat's  me — 

Ole  Unc'  Gabe's  my  name; 
I  thankee,  Marster,  I'm  'bout,  yo'  see: 

'An'  de  ole  'ooman?  '     She  much  desame, 
Po'ly  an'  plainin,'  thank  de  Lord! 
But  de  Marster's  gwine  ter  come  back  from  'broad. 

"'Fine  ole  place?'     Yes,  sah,  'tis  so; 

An'  mighty  fine  people  my  white  folks  war — 
But  you  ought  ter'  a'  seen  it  years  ago, 

When  de  Marster  an'  de  Mistis  lived  up  dyah; 
When  de  niggers  'd  stan'  all  roun'  de  do', 
Like  grains  o'  corn  on  de  cornhouse  flo'. " 

Of  course  the  stranger  is  the  son  of  the  negro's  old  master; 
and  when  at  length  he  makes  himself  known,  the  former  slave, 
with  a  fine  exhibition  of  the  naive  characteristics  of  his  race, 
breaks  forth  in  exultant  joy: — 

"  I  knowed  you,  chile — 

I  knowed  you  soon's  I  see'd  your  face! 
Whar  has  you  been  dis  blessed  while? 

Done  come  back  an'  buy  de  place? 

Oh,  bless  de  Lord  for  all  his  grace! 
De  ravins  shell  hunger,  an'  shell  not  lack: 
De  Marster,  de  Young  Marster's  done  come  back!  " 


CHAPTER  XVII 
Poets  from  1890  to  1895 

"Arcade  Echoes." — The  student  spirit  in  our  institutions  of 
learning  is  a  queer  thing — a  life  and  law  unto  itself.  It  does 
not  take  life  seriously;  and  in  its  exuberant  vitality,  it  is  apt, 
in  many  cases,  to  show  itself  restive  under  restraint  and  dis- 
cipline. It  develops  a  lingo  of  its  own;  and  so  a  student  never 
fails  in  recitation,  but  "  corks  "  or  "  busts/'  He  is  apt  to  have 
a  moral  code  which  takes  liberties  with  the  'decalogue  and  the 
customs  of  civilized  society.  To  take  advantage  of  a  professor 
is  like  a  stratagem  in  war — entirely  permissible  if  successful; 
and  to  carry  off  the  gates  of  the  slumbering  and  unsuspecting 
citizen,  or  to  rouse  the  town  with  unearthly  noises — all  this, 
at  proper  intervals,  is  regarded  as  the  correct  thing.  And 
"drafting"  or  "calicoing,"  with  its  elegant  "dikes"  and 
charming  flirtations,  sometimes  occupies  more  .time  and  atten- 
tion than  unsentimental  fathers,  who  pay  the  bills,  could  wish. 

These  reflections  have  been  started  by  Arcade  Echoes,  a 
volume  of  verse  selected  by  Thomas  L.  Wood  from  the  Virginia 
University  Magazine  between  the  years  1859  and  1890.  It 
reflects,  in  a  clear  way,  much  of  the  undergraduate  life  of  that 
famous  institution.  In  college  journalism,  which  in  recent 
years  has  become  so  general,  one  does  not  expect  poetry  of  a 
very  high  order,  unless,  as  sometimes  happens,  a  member  of  the 
faculty  lends  a  hand. 

In  the  volume  before  us  we  find  here  and  there  echoes  from 
Greece  and  Rome;  occasionally  the  undergraduate  poet,  with  a 
rather  painful  effort  to  keep  his  face  straight,  undertakes  to 
illumine  some  serious  subject.  But  these  are  sporadic  attempts. 

[244] 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  245 

The  favorite  themes  are  Corking,  The  Big  Horn  of  the  Range, 
which  all  the  tinners  of  Charlottesville  unite  to  construct — 

"  One  night  when  all  the  world  was  still,  and  silence  hovered  round, 
O'er  hill  and  dale,  o'er  floss  and  fill,  was  heard  an  awful  sound; 
So  wild  and  stern,  yet  full  and  clear,  it  rode  upon  the  blast, 
That  Monticello  caught  it  up,  and  back  the  echo  cast " — 

and  the  Fierce  Dog  or  Sal's  Towser,  whose  relentless  teeth 
snatched  from  the  frightened  and  fleeing  lover's  pantaloons  a 
capacious  piece  and  so  rendered  his  intended  call  utterly  im- 
possible. 

But  most  of  all  the  tender  and  sentimental  are  dear  to  the 
undergraduate's  heart;  and  so  we  discover  such  tale-telling 
themes  as  My  Little  Classic  Divinity,  Only  a  Kiss,  She  has 
Drifted  Away,  A  Beaux  Yeux,  A  Woman's  Hair,  and  many 
others  which  are  likely  to  start  a  smile,  and  perhaps  call  forth 
a  tear. 

Mr.  Thomas  L.  Wood,  the  collector  of  these  amateur  verses, 
has  judiciously  omitted,  as  he  informs  us,  the  morbid  or  affected 
imitations  of  Byron  and  Poe.  He  traces  these  effusions  to  their 
proper  sources,  which  are  not,  as  the  authors  fondly  imagine,  a 
sublime,  ill-fated  genius,  but  improvident  and  unhygienic 
habits.  "Dark  references,"  he  says,  "in  style,  and  often  in 
the  words  of  Mr.  Poe,  to  blighted  hopes  and  saddened  lives  are, 
we  believe,  inspired  less  by  mysterious  afflictions  than  by  un- 
digested, suppers ;  and  longings  to  flee  to  sundry  distant  isles — 
methods  of  transportation  being  no  consideration — where  lone 
seas  howl  as  a  steady  occupation,  and  false  man  ne'er  comes 
and  woman's  eye  is  absent,  arise  frequently  from  the  implacable 
natures  of  tailors  and  misunderstandings  with  the  washer- 


POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

William  B.  Greene. — A  Legend  of  Old  Virginia  is  a  small 
pamphlet  published  in  London  in  1891.  Its  author  is  William 
Batchelder  Greene,  and  the  poem  was  printed  only  for  private 
circulation.  The  Legend  is  a  rather  shadowy  story  of  the  Civil 
War.  The  lover  who  went  away  with  soul  aflame  returns  at 
last  as  a  ghost: — 

"  O  angels  of  night!  abide  in  your  place — 
Or,  should  ye  confront  us,  be  angels  of  grace!  — 
And  slowly  it  turned  its  luminous  face, 
And  Marion  shrieked,  'He  is  dead!  he  is  dead!  ' 
Yet  'twas  not  the  cry  of  horror  or  dread; 
But  the  stound  that  must  be  when  a  spirit's  set  free. 

"And  the  soul  that  met  soul  blew  a  kiss  in  the  air 
That  flew  to  the  starlands  and  united  the  pair; 
From  the  arch  of  the  night  the  twain  now  shine  forth 
As  a  sign  to  the  living  of  this  plighting  of  troth, 
While  the  river  in  rapture  reflects  them  in  bliss, 
And  the  whispering  willows  soft  echo  the  kiss. 
And  thus  hath  night  come  on  the  homestead  outcast, 
The  mantle  material  of  memories  past." 

James  B.  Morgan. — James  Brainerd  Morgan  is  the  author  of 
Song-Sermons  and  Other  Poems,  published  in  1892,  and  also  of 
Strollings  in  Song-Land,  published  in  1893.  The  first  volume 
contains  a  biographical  sketch  of  the  author.  He  is  a  native  of 
Berkeley  County,  and  descends  from  Colonial  and  Eevolutionary 
heroes.  He  began  writing  verse — as  most  poets  of  genius  have 
done — when  he  was  quite  young.  "  Since  that  time/'  the 
biographical  sketch  informs  us,  "his  poetic  contributions  have 
appeared  in  a  number  of  the  leading  magazines  and  periodicals 
of  the  country/' 

It  is  to  Mr.  Morgan's  credit  that  he  has  been  an  ardent  advo- 
cate of  temperance  and  enthusiastic  Sunday-school  worker. 
The  volumes  before  us  show  that  his  pen  has  been  used — and 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  247 

the  biographical  sketch  says  "effectively  used" — in  behalf  of 
these  great  human  interests.  Some  of  his  poems  have  been  set 
to  music,  and  others  have  been  appropriated,  so  the  sketch  says, 
"  by  unscrupulous  writers  as  an  easy  means  of  securing  a  repu- 
tion."  It  is  not  easy  to  conceive,  however,  that  a  literary  thief 
would  be  so  deficient  in  judgment. 

The  poems  of  the  first  volume  are  what  their  title  indicates, 
Song-Sermons;  and  most  of  them,  like  ordinary  prose  sermons, 
take  a  text.  The  sentiment  is  proper  and  the  doctrine  uncor- 
rupt.  If  inserted  in  our  popular  Sunday-school  hymnals,  they 
would  not  create  a  discord  by  rising  above  or  sinking  below  the 
average  excellence.  There  is  nothing  better  in  the  book  than 
Sunrise,  which  in  justice  to  the  author,  is  here  given : — 

"  Turn  your  face  toward  the  sunrise, 
Let  its  brightness  fill  your  heart 
With  new  light  and  warmth  and  courage, 
And  all  shadows  bid  depart. 

"  Ever  look  unto  the  sunrise, 

Walking,  working  in  its  light; 
And  the  shadows  fall  behind  you, 

And  your  life  shall  know  no  night." 

The  second  volume,  Strollings  in  Song-Land,  reaches,  we  are 
glad  to  say,  a  somewhat  higher  level. 

J.  R.  Greenway. — Mr.  Greenway  is  the  author  of  a  small 
collection  of  poems  to  which  he  has  given  the  title  Here  and 
There.  It  consists  chiefly  of  pieces  which  originally  appeared 
in  the  Religious  Herald  and  other  church  papers,  and  which  are 
neither  better  nor  worse  than  the  average  original  poems  pub- 
lished in  that  obliging  class  of  periodicals.  Many  of  them  are 
comments  on  texts  of  Scripture,  and  their  unexceptional  ortho- 
doxy never  deviates  into  genuine  poetry. 


248  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 


The  book  was  published,  under  peculiar  circumstances,  as  a 
scheme  of  benevolence.  The  profits  were  to  be  given,  as  the 
preface  at  the  end  of  the  book  tells  us,  to  a  church  in  Albemarle, 
the  roof  of  which  had  "  leaks  in  several  places,  and  no  one  has 
yet  offered  to  repair  it  gratis."  "  In  view  of  these  facts,"  con- 
tinues the  a-uthor,  "  I  have  no  hesitation  in  asking  the  reader  to 
get  his  or  her  friends  to  buy  copies  of  this  little  book."  It  is 
to  be  hoped  that  a  sufficient  sum  was  realized  to  repair  the 
defective  roof.  The  modesty  or  the  judgment  of  the  author 
permitted  him  to  give  only  his  initials  on  the  title  page. 

Mrs.  Martha  J.  Claiborne. — Hawthorne  Leaves,  by  Mrs. 
Martha  J.  Claiborne,  is  a  volume  of  two  hundred  pages.  It 
contains  more  than  a  hundred  poems,  all  of  which  breathe  a 
reflective,  religious  spirit.'  The  themes  are  taken  from  the 
ranges  of  thought  common  to  serious,  cultured  minds;  there  is 
no  effort  at  what  is  fanciful  or  remote  from  every  day  expe- 
riences. The  versification,  while  lacking  the  striking  word  and 
happy  phrase  that  would  give  it  distinction,  is  correct  and  skil- 
ful. The  style  might  have  been  formed  on  Longfellow's  earlier 
poetry;  for  the  meters  are  all  simple  and  the  diction  is  that  of 
ordinary  life. 

The  first  poem  This  Blessed  Day,  is  a  pious  tribute  to  Christ- 
inas. Of  Faith,  the  second  poem,  it  is  said- 

"  She  beckons — and  we  follow  her, 

Not  knowing  where  we  go, 
Not  turning  back,  though  faint  the  light 
Our  weary  path  may  show." 

Then  follow  The  Song  of  the  Stars,  A  Life  Lesson,  My 
Journey,  The  Triumph  of  Time,  Sing  Me  a  Song,  and  so  on, 
which  will  show  the  class  of  subjects  that  appealed  to  the -poet's 
imagination.  They  reveal  a  pure,  refined  womanhood.  Most 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  249 

of  the  poems  suffer  somewhat  from  a  tendency  to  diffuseness ;  or 
is  it  the  impatience  of  this  telegraphic  commercial  age  that 
makes  us  a  little  intolerant  of  long-drawn  poetic  form? 

As   exemplifying  Mrs.   Claiborne's  art,  a  few  stanzas  from 
The  Answer  are  given: — 

"  Is  there  ever  a  point  we  can  reach  in  life, 

Where  the  heart  can  pausing  say, 
'  I  have  not  a  care,  or  a  feverish  wish, 

To  worry  my  life  to-day?' 

"  Is  there  ever  an  hour  of  such  sweet  content, 

That  the  heart  can  rest  and  tell 
Alone  of  the  pleasant  things  it  found, 
Uncaring  what  befell? 


"  Was  there  ever  a  love,  so  true  and  deep, 

And  ceaseless  in  its  flow, 

That  the  clear,  sweet  stream  was  always  full, 
And  the  heart  no  thirst  could  know  ? 

*  *  *  * 

"  Was  there  ever  a  faith,  so  firm  and  strong, 

That  it  throttled  every  doubt, 
And  hushed  the  waking  voice  of  fear 
With  bold,  exultant  shout? 

"I  asked  of  all  I  met  on  the  way, 

And  still  no  answer's  given ; 
I  asked  of  my  heart  and  heard  it  say, 
Not  here!  not  here,  in  Heaven." 

Somehow  this  poem  reminds  us  of  Mrs.  Margaret  J.  Preston; 
and  it  certainly  would  not  have  detracted  from  her  poetic  fame. 

Col.  Thomas  J.  Evans. — Sir  Francis  Drake,  and  Other  Fugi- 
tive Poems,  by  Col.  Thomas  J.  Evans,  was  published  in  Kich- 
mond.  in  1895.  These  poems  were  written,  not  to  express  some 
truth  that  burdened  the  author's  soul,  but  rather  as  an  agreeable 


250  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

pastime.  They  are  not,  therefore,  to  be  taken  too  seriously. 
They  were  published  by  the  poet's  daughter  as  a  memorial  to 
her  father  after  his  death ;  and  to  those  who  knew  him  well  and 
enjoyed  the  genial  humor  of  his  nature,  the  volume  before  us 
has  been  no  doubt  a  welcome  souvenir. 

Col.  Thos.  J.  Evans  was  a  native  of  King  William  County, 
where  he  was  born  February  2,  1822.  He  received  his  educa- 
tion in  Richmond,  where  he  later  studied  and  entered  upon  the 
practice  of  law.  He  gradually  rose  to  distinction,  became  a 
member  of  the  legislature,  and  enjoyed  an  enviable  reputation 
as  a  public  speaker.  His  ready  gifts  in  versification  were  in- 
voked on  various  public  occasions,  of  which  fact  the  volume  in 
question  gives  ample  evidence. 

In  the  Civil  War  he  was  colonel  of  the  nineteenth  regiment 
of  Virginia  militia,  and  saw  active  service  in  the  bloody  fields 
around  Richmond.  His  genial  personality  made  friends  and  kept 
them.  "  He  was,"  as  his  daughter  tells  us,  "  a  true-hearted 
man.  Duplicity  and  deceit  found  no  favor  in  his  eyes  and  had 
no  place  in  his  heart.  He  was  a  loving  and  tender  husband 
and  father,  a  friend  rich  in  affection,  a  citizen  who  served  his 
city  and  State  loyally  and  freely."  After  all,  to  deserve  such 
a  tribute  is  more  than  to  be  a  successful  poet. 

The  title  poem  Sir  Francis  Drake,  which  is  the  last  in  the 
book,  is  a  brief  metrical  story  of  the  great  admiral's  early  life. 
As  an  illegitimate  child,  the  future  admiral  was  cared  for  by  a 
community  of  nuns,  who  took  great  interest  and  pride  in  the 
little  waif. 

"  The  chilling  wind,  the  winter's  breath, 

Blew  cold  late  in  December; 
Because  he  did  not  freeze  to   death, 
The  sisters  called  him  Ember." 

When  he  had  grown  to  be  a  bright,  stout  lad,  he  became  a 
seaman  under  the  name  of  Drake, 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  251 

"  He  saw  old  Ocean,  deep  and  wide, 

His  waves  with  foaming  crest; 
He  saw  the  frigate  proudly  ride 
Upon  his  heaving  breast. 

"  He   saw  the   iceberg   mountain   high, 

The  white  bear  on  its  side, 
As  forcibly  it  drifted  by, 

The  plaything  of  the  tide. 

"  He  saw  the  storm  in  all  its  wrath, 

And  heard  its  mighty  roar; 
He  saw  the  sea  without  a  path 
To  lead  to  any  shore." 

The  rest  of  the  story  is  well  known ;  the  abilities  of  the  young 
seaman  rapidly  gained  recognition,  and  at  last  the  Queen  hon- 
ored him  with  the  highest  naval  office  at  her  disposal. 

The  other  pieces  of  the  little  volume  are  divided  between  the 
humorous  and  the  serious,  the  general  scope  of  which  may  be 
inferred  from  such  consecutive  titles  as  Welcome  to  De  Molay, 
Phoebus  and  the  Fat  Lady,  A  Patriotic  Piece,  ChicTcen  Fixin's, 
He  Chastens  in  Kindness,  Sunbeams  and  Shadows,  and  Advice 
to  a  Bachelor.  The  brief  Sunbeams  and  Shadows  will  exhibit 
the  modest  height  to  which  his  muse  at  its  best  ascends : — 

"  There's  not  a  heart  that  beats  with  life, 
But  knows  its  peace,  but  has  its  strife, 
But  has  its  shadows  of  the  night, 
Its  sunbeams  too,  its  morning  light. 

Yes,  every  heart,  the  false,  the  true, 
Has  shadows,  and  its  sunbeams,  too." 

John  Howard. — The  Mystic  Circle  of  Kate's  Mountain,  by 
John  Howard,  was  published  in  pamphlet  form  in  1895.  The 
poem  is  only  a  fragment,  and  originally  appeared  in  the  South- 
ern Literary  Messenger  for  November,  1861.  The  occasion  of 


252  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

the  poem  is  thus  given  in  a  note :  "  In  the  summer  of  1860,  a 
party  of  ladies  and  gentlemen  at  the  Greenbrier  White  Sulphur 
formed  the  purpose  of  making  a  morning  excursion  to  Kate's 
Mountain  (about  three  miles  distant),  the  highest  point  of  the 
ranges  encircling  the  springs,  and  planting  upon  its  summit  a 
signal  banner  to  mark  and  commemorate  the  height  of  their 
conquest."  It  was  a  merry  party,  filling  the  day  with  pleas- 
antry, laughter,  and  song. 

The  poet  of  the  party  "  unwisely  promised  "  to  commemorate 
the  day's  achievement  in  song.  Accordingly,  the  poem, 
"sketched  by  pen  or  pencil,  as  an  idle  fancy  prompted  during 
a  morning  hour  in  the  mountains,  soon  grew  beyond  expecta- 
tion, and  was  abandoned ;  and  on  returning  to  '  business  and 
books '  again,  sterner  duties  challenged  attention,  and  the  rash 
promise  was  forgotten.  And  now,  the  first  anniversary  of  the 
27th  of  August,  has  come  and  gone  and  events  which  the  pre- 
science of  Providence  could  alone  foresee,  have  broken  the  vows 
and  blighted  the  hopes  of  the  fond  dreamers  who  planned  an 
annual  repetition  of  their  adventurous  pleasures.  These  truant 
lines,  though  incomplete,  may  still  serve  the  office  of  friendship, 
if,  in  anywise,  they  shall  more  vividly  recall  to  the  Mystic  Circle 
the  bright  lineaments  of  each  other  in  the  light  of  the  golden 
memories  of  that  beautiful  day  of  pure  and  earnest  enjoyment." 

The  fragment  is  devoted  to  a  portrayal  of  the  personnel  of 
the  party,  but  does  not  complete  it.  The  women  were  all  angels, 
and  the  men  heroes.  There  is  scarcely  the  eye  for  character 
that  one  finds  in  Chaucer's  Prologue;  and  one  feels  a  suspicion 
that  the  author  did  not  finish  the  series  of  sketches  because  he 
had  bankrupted  his  store  of  laudatory  description.  The  most 
graphic  portrait  is  that  of  the  leader  of  the  party : — 

"  Too  grave  by  half,  yet  calmly  gay, 
A  son  of  science  led  the  way: 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  253 

Skilled,  through  years  of  toil,  to  trace 
The  nearest  line  from  place  to  place, 
And  quickly  his  steady  footsteps  knew 
The  course  his  practical  vision  drew. 
All  honor  to  the  mind  and  heart 
That  dares  to  do  the  nobler  part — 
All  honor  to  the  brave,  strong  will, 
That  conquers  but  to  conquer  still, 
And  walks  through  life  its  silent  way 
O'er  vales  or  mountains  as  they  lay."  (?) 

The  ladies  of  the  party  were  all  pretty  much  of  one  angelic 
type.  The  following  description  of  one  would  serve  with  in- 
significant changes  for  all ;  it  is  "  the  maid  of  classic  name  and 
beauty  " : — 

"  She  came  as  comes  the  dancing  light 
O'er  purpling  hills,  and  rapture  bright 
Beamed  life  and  laughter  from  her  face 
And  form  of  loveliness  and  grace. 
Nor  purer  glowed  Auroral  flush 
Of  sunlight  in  its  sweetest  blush, 
Than  glowed  her  soul  with  thoughts  that  stirred 
The  heart,  by  lightest  smile  or  word. 
No  loftier  rose  the  mountain  high 
Beyond  the  cloudlets  of  the  sky, 
Than  rose  that  soul,  in  thought  sublime, 
Above  the  paltry  things  of  time — 
Rose,  brightly  pure,  in  innocence — 
Majestic  in  its  faith  intense — 
Amid,  and  yet  above  the  world, 
With  beaming  wings  for  Heaven  unfurled." 

As  will  be  seen,,  our  author  was  not  without  poetic  skill;  and 
had  he  struck  a  lower  key  and  discriminated  his  characters 
better,  he  might  have  given  us  a  complete  poem  of  interest — a 
fitting  memorial  of  what  must  have  been  a  delightful  tramp  to 
the  mountains. 


254  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

James  Barren  Hope. — James  Barren  Hope  has  a  well-founded 
claim  to  be  regarded  as  the  poet  laureate  of  the  Old  Dominion. 
It  can  hardly  be  claimed  that  he  had  the  highest  gifts;  but  no 
other  of  her  singers  was  called  on  so  often  to  grace  important 
anniversary  and  dedicatory  occasions.  Indeed,  the  larger  part, 
and  the  best  part,  of  A  Wreath  of  Virginia  Bay  Leaves  is  made 
up  of  memorial  odes,  all  which  are  pitched  in  a  noble  key. 

The  poet  sprang  from  a  worthy  ancestry.  He  was  born  at 
the  home  of  his  grandfather  Commodore  James  Barren,  who 
at  that  time  was  commander  of  the  Gosport  Navy  Yard.  His 
mother  was  a  typical  gentlewoman  of  the  old  school.  His  father 
was  a  talented  man,  whose  large  estate  bordered  the  waters  of 
Hampton  Roads.  Thus  his  early  surroundings,  which  in  the 
judgment  of  Plato  and  Aristotle  count  for  so  much,  were  in 
an  atmosphere  of  wealth  and  culture. 

He  received  his  preparatory  education  in  Germantown, 
Pennsylvania,  and  afterwards  entered  William  and  Mary  Col- 
lege, where  he  took  his  degree  of  Bachelor  of  Arts  in 
1847.  After  a  brief  term  of  service  in  the  United  States  Navy, 
he  settled  at  Hampton,  where  in  1856  he  was  elected  common- 
wealth's attorney.  The  year  following  he  married  Miss  Annie 
Beverly  Whiting — a  union  that  proved  to  be  a  very  happy  one. 

He  early  established  a  reputation  as  a  poet,  and  at  the  time 
of  his  marriage  was  a  favorite  contributor  to  the  Southern 
Literary  Messenger.  In  1857  the  Lippincotts  brought  out  a 
volume  of  poems  entitled  Leoni  di  Monota  and  Other  Poems, 
most  of  which  had  previously  appeared  in  periodicals.  The 
volume  was  favorably  received  by  the  critics,  and  the  Charge 
at  BalaJclava  in  particular  called  forth  favorable  comparisons 
with  Tennyson's  celebrated  poem  on  the  same  subject.  Though 
lacking  in  concentrated  energy  of  thought  and  purpose,  it  con- 
tains spirited  stanzas.  The  order  for  the  expected  charge,  for 
example,  had  at  length  been  given : — 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  255 

"  Now  the  fevered  spell  is  broken, 

Every  man  feels  twice  as  large, 
Every  heart  is  fiercely  leaping, 
As  a  lion  roused  from  sleeping, 
For  they  know  they  will  be  sweeping 
In  a  moment  to  the  charge. 

"  Brightly  gleam  six  hundred  sabres, 

And  the  brazen  trumpets  ring; 
Steeds  are  gathered,  spurs  are  driven, 
And  the  heavens  widely  riven 
With  a  mad  shout  upward  given, 

Scaring  vultures  on  the  wing." 

The  same  year  he  was  poet  at  the  250th  anniversary  of  the 
English  settlement  at  Jamestown.  The  ode  he  recited  on  that 
occasion  is  largely  a  solemn  elegy  on  the  vanished  "race  of 
kings."  It  contains  a  fitting  tribute  to  Pocahontas,  the  sound 
of  whose  name  suggests  "  the  image  of  a  saint  " : — 

"  Had  I  the  power,  I'd  reverently  describe 
That  peerless  maid — '  the  pearl  of  all  her  tribe,' 
As  evening  fair,  when  coming  night  and  day 
Contend  together  which  shall  wield  its  sway." 

In  1858  he  recited  a  Memorial  Ode  at  the  unveiling  of  Craw- 
ford's statue  of  Washington  in  the  Capitol  Square  at  Eichmond. 
It  has  a  lofty,  patriotic  tone,  but  with  "  the  prophet's  faculty '' 
the  poet  touches  on  existing  dangers,  and  prays, — 

"  That  God  will  banish  those  portentous  clouds, 
Suggesting  perils  in  their  warlike  shape." 

During  the  War  between  the  States,  the  danger  of  which  he 
had  foreseen,  our  author  served  as  captain  and  quartermaster  in 
the  Confederate  army.  After  the  end  of  the  great  struggle,  he 
went  to  Norfolk  and  entered  upon  a  journalistic  career,  in  which 
he  achieved  distinction  and  acquired  a  wide  influence.  In  1881 
he  was  chosen  by  Congress  to  be  the  poet  of  the  Yorktown  Cen- 


256  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA. 

tennial.  The  metrical  address  recited  on  that  occasion,  en- 
titled Arms  and  the  Man,  represents,  perhaps,  his  highest  poetic 
achievement.  It  traverses,  in  brief  lyrical  outbursts,  the  leading 
facts  of  colonial  history,  and  the  striking  incidents  of  the  battle 
at  Yorktown.  Its  spirit  of  loyal  devotion  to  the  Union  is  shown 
in  The  Flag  of  the  Republic : — 

"  Float  out,  O  flag,  and  float  in  every  clime! 

Float  out,  O  flag,  and  blaze  on  every  sea! 
Float  out,  O  flag,  and  float  as  long  as  Time 
And  space  themselves  shall  be! 

"  Float  out,  O  flag,  above  a  smiling  Land! 
Float  out,  O  flag,  above  a  peaceful  sod! 
Float  out,  O  flag,  thy  staff  within  the  hand 
Beneficent  of  God!  " 

The  concluding  lyric  of  the  metrical  address,  The  South  in 
the  Union,  contains  a  prophecy  which  had  a  beautiful  fulfilment 
in  the  war  with  Spain : — 

"  And  so  this  day 
To  you  I  say — 

Speaking  for  millions  of  true  Southern  men — 
In  words  that  have  no  undertow — 
I  say,  and  say  again: 
Come  weal  or  woe, 
Should  the  Republic  ever  fight, 

By  land  or  sea, 

For  present  law,  or  ancient  right, 
The  South  will  be 
As  was  that  lance, * 
Albeit  not  found 
Hid  underground, 
But  In  the  forefront  of  the  first  advance!  " 

XA  reference  to  the  spear  with  which,  according  to  legend, 
Christ's  side  was  pierced,  and  which,  afterwards  found  buried 
untarnished,  brought  victory  to  those  who  fought  against  the  infidel 
in  one  of  the  Crusades. 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  257 

Once  more,,  when  the  corner-stone  of  a  monument  to  Robert 
E.  Lee  was  to  be  laid,  James  Barron  Hope  was  invited  to  grace 
the  ceremonies  with  an  ode.  He  prepared  an  ardent  eulogy  of 
the  great  Virginian,  but  was  destined  not  to  read  it;  for  the 
day  after  the  poem  was  completed,  he  suddenly  passed  away, 
September  15,  1887. 

The  Lee  Memorial  Ode,  which  was  read  by  William  Gordon 
McCabe,  has  been  much  praised.  But  whether  it  was  the 
absence  of  painstaking  revision  or  the  hand  of  mortal  illness 
upon  the  poet,  it  does  not  seem  equal  to  his  best  achievement. 
Among  the  other  poems  worthy  of  mention  are  A  Story  of 
Caracas,  a  romantic  narrative  of  a  hair-breadth  escape,  Three 
Summer  Studies,  which  are  vivid  in  their  portraiture,  and 
Our  Heroic  Dead,  which  concludes  with  these  lines: — 

"  That  past  is  now  like  an  Arctic  Sea 

Where  the  living  currents  have  ceased  to  run, 
But  over  that  past  the  fame  of  Lee 

Shines  out  as  '  the  midnight  sun  ': 
And  that  glorious  Orb,  in  its  march  sublime, 
Shall  gild  our  graves  till  the  end  of  time!  " 

The  themes  on  which  our  poet  exercised  his  gifts  were  usually 
of  a  large  and  elevated  character.  He  met  them  with  a  fitting 
fervor  and  dignity  of  thought  and  expression.  There  is  an 
almost  utter  absence  of  mysticism.  He  is  clear,  concrete,  and 
affluent  in  his  diction  and  imagery — one  of  the  best  of  Vir- 
ginia singers. 


P.  of  Va.— 17 


CHAPTEE  XVIII 

Poets  from  1895  to  igoo 

Benjamin  Sledd. — The  author  of  From  Cliff  and  Scaur  and 
The  Watchers  of  the  Hearth  is  a  native  of  Bedford  County,  and 
a  graduate  of  Washington  and  Lee  University.  Though  he  has 
been  a  professor  of  English  in  Wake  Forest  College,  1ST.  C.,  for 
nearly  twenty  years,  recollections  of  his  childhood  home  and  his 
native  State  occasionally  creep  into  his  verse: — 

"  Still  stands — shall  ever  stand — 
Unchanged,  unchangeable,  each  mighty  steep, 
And  vale  and  stream  their  olden  beauty  keep — 
Sure  witnesses  from  the  Creator's  hand 
Of  favoring  love  to  thee,  my  own  dear  native  land!  " 

The  scholarly  life  of  Professor  Sledd  is  clearly  reflected  in 
his  verse.  His  study  of  the  masters  of  English  song,  among 
whom  one  suspects  that  Tennyson  and  Browning  are  favorites, 
has  given  a  fine  literary  quality  to  his  lyrics.  He  has  a  delicate 
artistic  sense  of  diction  and  form;  and  yet,  though  he  always 
maintains  a  high  level,  he  rarely  reaches  the  trembling  summits 
of  final,  perfect  expression. 

In  his  first  volume  From  Cliff  and  Scaur,  published  in  1897, 
the  prevailing  tone  is  elegiac.  The  tragedy  of  life,  in  which 
love,  death,  and  ghostly  apparitions  are  of  frequent  appearance, 
is  represented  in  such  poems  as  A  Ballad  of  Otter  Hill,  A  Ballad 
of  Merriway  Place,  The  Lay  of  Helgi,  and  Young  Clifford's 
Bride.  There  is  an  evident  fondness  for  the  heroic  figures  of 
old  Norse  mythology,  and  Odin,  Balder,  and  the  Norns  are  met 
with  more  than  once.  Eldred  is  a  strong  blank-verse  poem 
describing  the  sad  withdrawal  of  the  Titan  deities  of  Teutonic 

[258] 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  259 

paganism    before    "that    strange    god    whose    symbol    is    the 
cross  " : — 

"  And  on  a  day  came  from  the  sea  a  cloud 
Like  some  vast  creature  of  the  primal  deeps, 
Rolling  its  formless  bulk  among  the  hills 
And  blasting  with  its  breath  forest  and  field. 
In  burning  folds  it  wrapped  the  recreant  land 
And  hid  the  sun  and  made  at  noon  deep  night. 
Then  rose  from  ruined  shrine  and  sacred  tree 
Lamentings  in  the  gloom,  as  of  a  folk 
Who  go  from  kin  and  land,  and  come  no  more." 

Professor  Sledd  has  a  strong  mystical  sense.  The  spirit 
world  has  reality  for  him;  he  catches  the  beauty  in  stream  and 
forest  that  escapes  the  common  eye;  and,  as  for  "Wordsworth, 
nature  has  for  him  mysterious  voices  and  messages  of  wisdom. 
Hence,  as  he  tells  us  in  the  pleasing  sonnet  Among  the  Laurel, 
he  finds  it — 

"  Sweet  to  lie 

Under  these  boughs  on  long,   still   summer  days 
And,  while  the  hours  with  noiseless  feet  go  by, 
To  watch  with  drowsy,  unsuspected  gaze, 
And  learn  of  Life  a  thousand  secret  ways, 
And  mysteries  undreamed  of  earth  and  sky." 

This  mystical  sense,  which  is  generally  associated  with  a  deli- 
cate fiber  of  muscle  and  brain,  is  strikingly  shown  in  the  two 
stanzas  composing  My  Silent  Guest: — 

"  In  the  lone  night  she  comes 

And  clasps  her  hand  in  mine; 
We  speak  not:  silence  has 
A  language  more  divine. 

"  Day  with  its  weary  strife, 

Night  with  its  gloom,  forgot: 
Soul  and  soul  are  wandering 

Where  day  and  night  come  not." 


260  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

The  last  two  extracts  are  taken  from  the  later  volume  The 
Watchers  of  the  Hearth  (1902),  the  songs  of  which  are  less 
artificial  than  those  of  From  Cliff  and  Scaur.  In  these  later 
lyrics  Professor  Sledd  has  spoken  more  directly  from  his  heart. 
Hence  we  find  tender  memories,  which  possess  an  autobio- 
graphic interest.  There  is  a  fond  dwelling  on  things  that 
might  have  been.  We  meet  with  a  father's  solicitude,  a  father's 
love,  and  alas,  also  a  father's  tears  for  those  who  are  no  more. 

Our  poet  does  not  belong  to  the  race  of  great  heroic  singers. 
He  does  not  stand  in  the  midst  of  the  market-places  of  life,  and 
in  trumpet  tones  proclaim  great  truths  to  an  earnest,  struggling 
nation.  He  does  not  aspire  to  the  high  vocation  of  the  prophet. 
He  prefers  to  fill  a  lowlier  sphere  with  gentle  music — to  be  num- 
bered with  those  humbler  poets — 

"  Who  through  long  days  of  labor, 

And  nights  devoid  of  ease, 
Still  heard  in   their  souls  the  music 
Of  wonderful  melodies." 

It  may  therefore  be  concluded  that  the  fine  sonnet  Decadence 
expresses  not  a  passing  mood,  but  a  habitual  attitude  of  mind : — 

"  They  weary  us, — those  mighty  bards  of  old 
Who  sang  alone  of  war  and  fateful  wrong, 
Their  accents  for  our  tired  lives  too  strong, 

Which  all  the  voices  of  the  past  must  hold. 

And  Ilion's  woe,  divinest  tale  e'er  told, 

Can  win  us  not;  nor  Milton's  seraph  song: 
And  even  he,  lord  of  the  buskined  throng, 

Speaks  in  a  language  harsh  and  overbold. 

"  Better  in  time's  still,  pensive  noon  to  lie 
Mid  the  sweet  grasses,  on  lovely  pasture  slopes — 
Some  lowly  poet's  new-discovered  rhymes, 
A  far  white  hamlet,  with  its  faint-heard  chimes 
Murmur  of  youth  and  maiden  loitering  by, 
And  all  our  little  world  of  dreams  and  hopes." 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  261 

John  B.  Tabb. — John  Banister  Tabb  was  born  in  Amelia 
County,  Virginia,  in  1845.  During  the  Civil  War  he  saw  service 
on  a  Confederate  blockade  runner,  but  was  captured  in  1864,  and 
confined  as  a  prisoner  at  Point  Lookout,  Md.,  for  seven  months. 
He  afterwards  studied  music  in  Baltimore,  where  he  taught  for 
several  years;  but  subsequently,  after  a  course  of  study  at  St. 
Charles  College  and  St.  Mary's  Seminary,  he  was  ordained  to 
the  priesthood  of  the  Roman  Catholic  Church.  He  is  thus  the 
second  son — Father  Ryan  being  the  first — that  Virginia  has 
given  at  the  same  time  to  poetry  and  the  Roman  Catholic  priest- 
hood. 

For  many  years  Father  Tabb  has  been  professor  of  English  at 
his  alma  mater.  But  his  time  has  not  been  wholly  engrossed 
by  the  labors  of  his  class-room.  He  has  contributed  many  poems 
to  our  leading  magazines,  and  published  several  volumes  of  verse, 
among  which  are  Lyrics  and  Poems,  issued  in  1897.  These  are 
dainty  little  books,  which  have  been  popular  enough  to  require 
successive  editions. 

A  striking  feature  of  the  poems  in  these  volumes  is  their 
brevity.  Many  of  them  do  not  extend  beyond  four  or  eight 
lines,  and  a  large  part  of  the  books  consists  of  unsullied  white 
paper.  This  brevity  gives  us  the  key  to  the  poet's  method. 
He  is  not  a  sculptor  of  heroic  figures,  but  a  carver  of  cameos. 
He  seems  to  have  learned  his  art,  not  in  the  affluent  and  magnifi- 
cent school  of  Victor  Hugo,  but  in  the  studied  refinements  of 
the  Parnassians — Gautier,  Banville,  and  Baudelaire.  He  does 
not  view  life  at  large,  but  fixes  his  gaze  intently  on  some  small 
object  till  it  yields  him  a  poetic  fancy  or  a  spiritual  truth. 
Take,  for  example,  the  little  poem,  My  Star : — 

"  Since  that  the  dewdrop  holds  the  star 

The  long  night  through, 
Perhaps  the  satellite  afar 
Reflects  the  dew. 


262  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

"And  while  thine  image  in  my  heart 

Doth  steadfast  shine; 
There,  haply,  in  thy  heaven  apart 
Thou  keepest  mine." 

This  little  poem,  exquisite  in  its  delicate  fancy  and  form,  is 
a  typical  example  of  Professor  Tabb's  manner  and  style.  There 
is  a  feminine  delicacy  in  most  that  he  has  written,  and  a  touch  of 
distinction — at  times  a  sort  of  finical  artificiality — that  lifts  it 
out  of  the  commonplace.  There  is  no  splendid  weaving  of 
tapestry,  but  an  exquisite  fashioning  of  filigree  work.  There 
are  no  trumpet  calls  in  his  poetry,  but  the  soft,  slender  tones  of 
the  wind-harp — music  suited  to  the  silences  of  the  soul. 

In  the  verse  before  us  there  is  a  suggestion  of  the  Fantastic 
Poets  of  English  literature — the  school  that  Dr.  Johnson  called 
transcendental,  because  of  their  fondness  for  tracing  remote  re- 
semblances. Sometimes  one  seems  to  detect  an  echo  of  Carew  or 
Waller.  It  frequently  requires  pause  and  reflection  to  trace  the 
analogies  he  draws  or  the  resemblances  he  works  out;  and  at 
such  moments  of  hazy  perplexity,  one  is  apt  to  set  a  new  value 
on  the  virtue  of  simplicity.  Here  is  the  poem  called  The 
Ring : — 

"  Hold  the  trinket  near  thine  eye, 

And  it  circles  earth  and  sky; 

Place  it  further,  and  behold! 

But  a  finger's  breadth  of  gold. 

"  Thus  our  lives,  beloved,  lie 
Ringed  with  love's  fair  boundary; 
Place  it  further,  and  its  sphere 
Measures  but  a  falling  tear." 

As  might  be  expected,  there  is  a  deep  religious  spirit  in  the 
poems.  If  the  author  acquired  his  art  from  the  later  French 
school,  he  did  not  borrow  its  paganism.  Sometimes  the  dis- 
tinctive tenets  of  his  church  form  the  subject  of  his  verse;  but 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  263 

his  delicacy  of  feeling  has  the  magic  power  to  transmute  even 
dogma  into  poetry.  Here  is  his  poem  on  The  Assumption — • 
just  a  quatrain,  but  containing  a  wealth  of  emotion : — 

"  Nor  Bethlehem  nor  Nazareth 
Apart  from  Mary's  care; 
Nor  heaven  itself  a  home  for  Him, 
Were  not  His  mother  there." 

It  is  thus,  in  very  many  cases,  he  writes  a  stanza,  where  others 
would  have  written  a  long  poem.  With  him,  as  with  no  other 
poet,  there  is  sometimes  reason  to  complain  of  brevity;  what 
with  most  is  a  virtue  is  sometimes  with  a  him  a  frailty. 

Professor  Tabb  has  an  evident  fondness  for  nature,  and  birds 
and  flowers,  in  particular,  appeal  to  his  sensitive  nature.  Many 
species  of  both  are  each  honored  with  a  separate  poem — not  a 
lengthy  lyric  such  as  Bryant  or  Lowell  or  Wordsworth  would 
have  written,  but  frequently  a  quatrain,  enshrining  a  single 
thought  or  fancy.  For  example,  take  this  quatrain  To  a  Wood- 
Robin  : — 

"Lo,  when  the  blooming  woodland  wakes 

From    wintry    slumbers    long, 
Thy  heart,  a  bud  of  silence,  breaks 
To  ecstasy  of  song." 

Our  author  has  an  admirable  power  of  condensation.  He 
reduces  a  poetic  conception  to  its  lowest  terms;  he  presents  a 
subject,  not  in  its  unreduced  bulk,  but  in  its  essence.  If  this 
method  sometimes  gives  a  slight  and  artificial  character  to  his 
verse — a  finical  over-refinement — it  also  at  times  produces  felici- 
tous results.  What  could  be  finer  than  the  little  poem  Con- 
tent? It  is  worth  whole  pages  of  dilute  description  of  the 
blessedness  of  love : — 


264  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

"Were  all  the  heavens  an  overladen  bough 

Of  ripened  benediction  lowered  above  me, 
What  could  I  crave,  soul-satisfied  as  now 
That  thou  dost  love  me? 

"  The  door  is  shut.     To  each  unsheltered  Blessing 

Henceforth  I  say,  '  Depart.   What  wouldst  thou  of  me?  ' 
Beggared  I  am  of  want,  this  boon  possessing, 
That  thou  dost  love  me." 

Each  of  the  volumes  under  consideration  concludes  with  a 
number  of  sonnets.  After  the  preceding  study,  it  is  needless  to 
say  that  they  are  fashioned  with  artistic  cunning.  They  have 
the  same  delicacy  of  touch,  the  same  aloofness  from  the  common- 
place of  thought  and  diction,  that  characterize  the  rest  of  our 
author's  poetry.  Of  all  the  poets  of  Virginia,  no  other  has 
given  more  attention  to  the  refinements  of  technique,  or 
achieved  better  results  in  polished  excellence  of  form.  Had 
there  been,  at  the  same  time,  greater  largeness  and  freedom  of 
thought,  together  with  the  transparent  clearness  of  simplicity, 
we  should  be  able  to  assign  him  a  higher  rank.  But  we  should 
be  thankful  for  our  exquisite  singers,  as  well  as  for  our  great 
ones. 

Beverley  D.  Tucker. — Confederate  Memorial  Verses,  by 
Beverley  Dandridge  Tucker,  is  a  neat  pamphlet  of  thirty-six 
pages.  It  is  made  up  of  brief  poems  celebrating  events  con- 
nected with  Confederate  leaders  and  achievements.  Without 
reaching  the  topmost  summits  of  poetic  conception  and  diction, 
the  verse  is  every  way  manly  and  creditable.  There  is  strong 
Southern  feeling  pervading  the  poems;  but  at  the  same  time, 
there  is  an  absence  of  sectional  rancor.  While  naturally  proud 
of  the  achievements  and  traditions  of  Virginia,  in  which  his 
family  have  borne  an  honorable  part,  the  poet's  breadth  of  cul- 
ture has  preserved  him  from  provincial  narrowness. 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  265 

The  Dedication,  though  in  prose,  is  not  the  least  poetical  and 
touching  thing  in  the  book.  "  I  would  have  my  children  proud/'* 
the  author  says,  "not  because  their  father,  as  a  boy,  wore  the 
grey  and  did  his  lowly  part,  but  I  would  have  them  proud  of 
the  fact  that  their  mother,  whilst  yet  a  little  maiden,  daughter 
of  a  knightly  soldier  who  rode  by  the  side  of  Eobert  Lee  and 
gave  to  the  South  as  a  free  libation  the  blood  he  shared  with 
f  the  Father  of  his  Country/  cheered  the  troopers  who  followed 
the  plume  of  Ashby,  and  waved  her  little  hand  to  greet  the 
cannoneers  of  Pelham,  and  stood  at  the  gate  of  her  home  and 
gave  food  and  drink  to  the  foot  cavalry  of  Stonewall  Jackson, 
as  the  tide  of  battle  ebbed  and  flowed  through  the  beautiful 
Valley  of  the  Shenandoah." 

The  opening  poem  of  the  brochure  is  Robert  E.  Lee,  and 
breathes  the  devotion  felt  throughout  the  South  for  that  pure 
and  high-souled  leader: — 

"  Thou  art  passed,  Commander,  where  ne'er 

Is  heed  of  the  praise  and  the  blame, 
Yet  resistless  outrings  the  loud  cheer 
At  sound  of  thy  name." 

The  poem  Gettysburg  celebrates  the  famous  charge  of 
Pickett's  division,  which  justly  deserves  a  place  among  the 
great  charges  of  the  world : — 

"Ah  me!     Ah  me!  the  slain! 

Borne  down, — as  beats  the  rain 
The  roses  in  the  mire  and  in  the  stain! 

Yet  Pickett  and  his  men 

Charge  on  and  charge  as  when 
The  wave  breaks  on  the  rock,  yet  breaks  again. 

"It  was  in  vain?    Ah  well! 

The  world  will  stop  to  tell, 
This  is  the  spot  where  knightly  Armistead  fell, 


2G6  POETS   OF  VIRGINIA 

And  this  the  sacred  field 
Where  heroes  would  not  yield 
But  fell  each  one  upon  his  stainless  shield." 

There  are  not  a  few  realistic  touches — too  realistic  for 
genuine  poetry — in  The  Days  When  We  Followed  Robert  Lee. 
A  deeper  note  is  struck  in  Compensation,  which  celebrates  the 
Confederate  dead  of  the  University  of  Virginia.  In  the  open- 
ing stanza  the  poet  asks: — 

"  Was  it  waste  when  the  sons,  who  were  reared  at  thy  side, 
At  the  beat  of  the  drum,  did  not  falter  nor  pause, 
And  by  duty  were  drawn,  as  the  waves  by  the  tide 
Obedient  to  laws? 

Was  it  waste  when  they  struggled,  and  suffered,  and  died 
For  flag  and  for  cause?  " 

In  the  last  stanza  the  answer  is  given: — 

"Was  it  waste?    Nay,  thy  sons  but  translated  in  deed 
All  the  truths  of  the  books  of  the  wisest  and  best; 
They  were  seekers  of  Honor,  and  chose  but  to  heed 
Her  royal  behest, 

And  the  names  of  the  dead  are  the  pages  we  read 
To  learn  of  the  quest." 

0 

Perhaps-  the  most  interesting  poems  of  this  collection  are 
those  addressed  to  other  Southern  singers,  in  which  we  find 
fitting  tribute  or  happy  characterization.  As  is  well  known, 
Father  Ryan  was  "  the  poet  laureate  "  of  the  South  after  the 
war.  This  fact  is  recognized  in  the  following  stanzas : — 

"  There  was  never  a  voice  to  utter 
The  grief  and  pain  of  the  land, 
Till  his  music  awoke  responsive 
To  the  tender  touch  of  his  hand. 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  267 

"  She  bowed  in  her  desolate  silence, 
And  mourned  by  the  graves  of  her  dead; 
And  she  longed  for  the  consolation 
That  comes  when  the  tears  are  shed — 

"  Till  his  strains,  as  they  fell,  awakened 
In  the  soul  that  bent  o'er  the  sod, 
New  faith  in  the  gracious  designings, 
In  the  hidden  purpose  of  God." 

There  is  a  fine  tribute  to  James  Barren  Hope,  and  a  still 
more  elaborate  appreciation  of  John  E.  Thompson,  read  on  the 
occasion  of  the  presentation  of  a  portrait  to  the  University  of 
Virginia : — 

"  He  knew  the  kindly  art  of  touching  hidden  springs 

In  human  hearts,  and  saw  the  good  in  friend  and  foe. 
He  made  us  pass  the  gates  of  war, 
And  showed  the  vision  fair  tho'  far, 

Of  home  again,  and  friends,  of  peace  with  healing  wings, 
Of  all  that  stays  and  cheers  when  strife  and  hatred  go." 

Duval  Porter. — The  Lost  Cause  and  Other  Poems,  by  Mr. 
Duval  Porter,  appeared  in  Danville,  Virginia,  in  1897.  This 
volume,  not  as  carefully  printed  as  could  be  desired,  is  divided 
into  five  parts;  namely,  The  Lost  Cause,  Humor,  Sentimental, 
Sacred  Subjects,  and  Miscellaneous.  These  different  classes  of 
topics  show  the  wide  range  of  the  author's  thought  and  fancy. 
The  book  is  dedicated  to  his  "brethren  in  arms/'  survivors  of 
the  great  civil  struggle,  "  and  to  the  no  less  heroic  women,  who 
made  such  unparalleled  sacrifices  for  the  sacred  cause." 

Part  first  exhibits  an  interesting  example  of  the  "unrecon- 
structed rebel" — an  independent  and  vigorous  type  that  seems 
about  to  become  extinct.  The  poet  surrendered  to  overwhelming 
force,  but  experienced  no  regeneration  in  his  political  convic- 
tions. Hence  we  read  in  The  Lost  Cause : — 


268  POETS  OF 


"  That  cause  was  right,  the  right  divine, 

The  right  of  self-defense, 
The  right  of  freemen  to  combine 
'Gainst  force  and  false  pjretense. 

"  The  cause  for  which  our  fathers  fought 

In  Revolution  days, 
Our  precious  heritage  —  blood-bought  — 
Right  then  and  right  always." 

In  this  part  of  the  book  are  numerous  brief  elegies  on  Con- 
federate leaders,  in  which  the  poet  celebrates,  among  others,  the 
virtues  of  Jeb  Stuart,  Old  Jube,  and  Stonewall  Jackson.  The 
famous  charge  of  Pickett's  Division  at  Gettysburg  is  sung,  a 
charge  — 

"  Which  made  e'en  Balaklava's  day 
Seem  tame  and  commonplace." 

The  principal  poem  in  part  second  is  an  allegory  called  The 
Elephant,  in  which  the  relation  of  the  North  to  the  slave-trade 
is  figuratively  presented.  It  is  tinged  with  the  partisan  feeling 
of  ante-bellum  days,  and  the  Puritan  New  Englanders  are  not 
the  subjects  of  flattering  laudation.  A  few  lines  will  give  the 
highly  seasoned  flavor  of  the  whole  poem:  — 

"  Next  came  a  philanthropic  tribe, 
Which  beggars  language  to  describe; 
Long,  lank,  and  lean,  and  hollow-eyed, 
Though  indigestion  long  had  vied 
With  death  itself,  and  left  within 
An  aching  void,  where  bile  and  sin 
In  equal  parts  contrived  to  stay 
And  keep  grim  death  alone  at  bay." 

Other  humorous  pieces  are  Just  As  I  Expected  and  Old 
Brother  Broadtoes,  whose  imperious  contention  that  "  wimmen 
haint  got  no  sense,"  was  suddenly  silenced  by  his  irate  spouse  :  — 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  269 

"  For  right  down  she  came  with  a  terrible  swing 

Of  the  shovel  on  his  old  bald  pate, 
A  very  short  way,  as  you  will  allow, 
Of  cutting  off  any  debate." 

Under  the  division  classed  as  Sentimental,  we  find  The  Poet's 
Wish,  in  which  the  writer's  idealism  strongly  asserts  itself. 
He  is  not  a  hard-headed  utilitarian,  absorbed  in  the  dull  prose 
of  commercialism,  but  a  boldly  avowed  idealist,  cherishing  a 
delicate  worship  of  the  beautiful : — 

"  Oh,  give  me  the  wind  that  sighs 

In  soft  Eolian  caves; 
Oh,  give  me  the  dreams  that  rise 
Like  Venus  from  the  waves. 

"  I  sigh  for  the  unreal, 

Bright  dreams  of  love  and  grace; 
I  Hve  in  the  ideal, 

And  loathe  the  commonplace." 

We  find  here,  too,  that  faith  in  God  and  man  which  prevents 
life  from  becoming  "  a  vale  of  tears  " : — 

"  I  still  have  faith  in  God  and  man, 

In  woman's  purity; 
Believe  in  good,  do  all  I  can, 

This  makes  life  sweet  to  me. 

"  O  Life,  my  Maker's  richest  boon, 

As  such  I  honor  thee, 
And  would  not  die  a  day  too  soon, 
For  life  is  sweet  to  me." 

While  an  author  retains  this  beautiful  faith,  and  rejoices  in 
the  boon  of  life,  it  is  a  matter  of  small  consequence,  if  he  have 
missed  the  gift  of  supreme  poetic  expression.  The  man  is  more 
than  the  poet ;  the  joy  of  life  is  better  than  lyrical  frenzy. 


270  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

Annistead  C.  Gordon. — For  Truth  and  Freedom,  published  in 
Staunton,  Virginia,  in  1898,  is  a  slender  pamphlet,  but  it  con- 
tains verse  worthy  of  the  noble  theme  to  which  it  is  dedicated. 
The  author,  Mr.  Armistead  C.  Gordon,  has  an  unusual  power  of 
high  and  forceful  utterance.  The  main  purpose  of  the  little 
work  is  to  celebrate  the  heroism  of  the  soldiers  of  the  Con- 
federacy; and  though  he  no  doubt  loyally  accepts  the  issues  of 
the  great  conflict,  he  is  not  blind  or  indifferent  to  the  sincerity 
and  valor  with  which  they  fought.  He  believes  that  the  prin- 
ciples for  which  they  contended  were  just: — 

"No  belted  knight,  who  in  his  grave 

Hath  long  since  crumbled  into  dust, 
E'er  drew  a  blade  in  cause  more  just; 
Nor  hero  fought  a  fight  more  brave, 
A  battle  more  august." 

The  ode  entitled  In  Memory,  and  dedicated  to  the  private 
soldiers  and  sailors  of  the  Confederacy,  is  admirable  in  thought 
and  expression: — 

"  They  did  their  duty  in  leal  fearless  fashion 

Of  antique  knighthood's  flower,  each  man  a  knight, 
Careless  if  Death,  dividing  peace  from  passion, 

Whispering  should  greet  them  in  the  roar  of  fight, 
Or  life  to  ceaseless  pain 
Should  lead  them  forth  again; 
Knowing  that  duty  done  is  never  done  in  vain." 

Roses  of  Memory  celebrates  the  famous  charge  of  Pickett  at 
Gettysburg.  The  Garden  of  Death  sings  of  the  high  hopes  with 
which  the  Civil  War  was  entered  upon,  and  of  the  disastrous 
but  glorious  results  of  the  conflict : — 

"Where  are  they  who  marched  away, 

Sped  with  smiles  that  changed  to  tears, 

Glittering  lines  of  steel  and  gray 
Moving  down  the  battle's  way — 

Where  are  they  these  many  years? 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  271 

"  Garlands  wreathed  their  shining  swords; 

They  were  girt  about  with  cheers, 
Children's  lispings,  women's  words, 
Sunshine  and  the  song  of  birds, — 
They  are  gone  so  many  years." 

The  last  poem  of  the  pamphlet — each  one  has  claimed  its 
notice  in  turn —  is  The  Fostering  Mother,  which  was  recited  at 
the  University  of  Virginia,  June  14,  1898,  at  the  inauguration 
of  the  new  buildings  which  replaced  those  destroyed  by  fire 
three  years  previously.  After  duly  celebrating  the  great 
founder  of  the  University — 

"  And  the  eternal  lesson  that  he  taught, 
'  The  gift  of  God  is  Freedom  '  " — 

the  poet  turns  to  those  whom  the  institution  had  sent  forth  "  for 
Truth's  most  holy  cause  " : — 

"For  Truth  and  Freedom!     Not  the  nameless  dead, 
Who  through  the  centuries  by  the  Grecian  sea 
Sleep  in  the  narrow  pass  they  kept,  shall  shed 

A  nobler  lustre  upon  Liberty 
Than  these  heroic  hearts  to  whom  she  taught 
That  Spartan  fortitude  is  born  of  Spartan  thought." 

Innes  Randolph. — In  1898  the  Poems  of  Innes  Eandolph, 
compiled  by  his  son,  were  published  in  Baltimore.  The  author, 
a  copy  of  whose  handsome  bust  illumines  the  fly-leaf  of  the 
volume,  was  a  man  of  great  versatility.  He  was  a  sculptor  and 
musician  as  well  as  poet.  Music  indeed,  as  his  son  tells  us, 
was  his  ruling  passion,  and  his  fondness  for  rippling  melodies 
finds  expression  in  his  verse.  But  fortune  was  against  him, 
and  in  spite  of  his  versatility  he  never  accomplished  in  any 
sphere  more  than  a  moiety  of  what  was  possible  for  him. 

"  Born  and  brought  up  in  Virginia/'  his  son  says  in  a  really 


272  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

illuminating  preface,  "at  a  time  when  the  old-fashioned  nar- 
row ideas  concerning  '  the  pursuits  proper  for  a  gentleman 9 
held  full  sway,  he  was  not  permitted  to  turn,  his  attention  to 
music,  painting,  sculpture,  or  literature,  in  any  one  of  which, 
with  proper  training,  he  might  have  accomplished  great  things. 
It  is  also  possible  that  even  these  early  obstacles  might  have 
been  overcome,  had  not  the  Civil  War  broken  out  at  the  critical 
moment  of  his  life  and  robbed  him  of  four  of  its  best  years." 

After  a  residence  of  three  or  four  years  in  Richmond  follow- 
ing the  close  of  the  war,  devoted  to  an  uphill  fight  for  the 
necessaries  of  life,  he  went  to  Baltimore  and  entered  upon  the 
practice  of  law.  Had  he  given  himself  wholly  to  his  profession, 
his  talents  would  no  doubt  have  brought  him  brilliant  success. 
But  he  was  drawn  to  the  fine  arts;  he  achieved  some  fame  in 
sculpture,  and  acquired  a  noteworthy  skill  on  the  violoncello. 
Finally  he  drifted  into  journalism,  where  his  versatile  gifts 
found  freer  scope  for  their  exercise,  but  left  fewer  monuments  to 
posterity.  "  The  newspapers  of  to-day,"  to  quote  again  from 
the  preface,  "  are  like  huge  furnaces  in  which  men's  brains  are 
used  for  fuel,  giving  out  heat  and  light,  it  is  true,  while  the 
consumption  lasts,  but  leaving  no  enduring  memory — merely  a 
pinch  of  ashes,  which  is  finally  scattered  to  the  winds." 

The  poems,  most  of  which  had  not  been  previously  printed, 
were  written  at  different  periods,  and  reflect  the  changes  of 
personal  experience  and  of  national  history.  Those  written  at 
the  close  of  the  war  and  during  the  Reconstruction  period  are 
filled  with  defiant  loyalty  to  the  South.  In  the  poet's  later  life 
the  great  struggle  became  a  memory  without  bitterness. 
Torchwork  is  a  story  of  the  desolation  wrought  by  Sheridan's 
army  in  the  beautiful  Valley  of  the  Shenandoah.  It  begins 
with  a  light  rippling  melody,  which  deepens  as  the  tragedy  of 
devastation  proceeds: — 


JAMES  LINDSAY  GORDON 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  273 

"  A  merry  rill, 
With  flashing  steps,  comes  down  the  hill, 

Down  the  hill, 
And,   strewn  with  bubbles,  stops  to  hide 

And  laugh  its  fill, 
And  mirror  on  its  dimpled  tide 
The  grass  that  overhangs  its  side; 

And  laughing  still, 
Among  the  rocks,  it  turns  to  glide 

Down  to  the  mill." 

The  mill  later,  as  might  be  guessed,  was  to  be  destroyed  by 
Sheridan's  ruthless  order. 

A  Fish  Story — a  parable  without  a  moral — is  intended  to 
show  the  dangers  of  freedom  to  the  negro.  Old  Ned,  who  goes 
fishing,  represents  the  negro  in  slavery,  and  the  huge  drum 
that  seizes  the  line  attached  to  his  ankle,  typifies  liberty.  The 
results  of  the  unfortunate  adventure  are  presented  in  the 
closing  lines  of  the  poem : — 

"  They  were  washed  ashore  by  tho  heaving  tide, 
And  the  fishermen  found  them  side  by  side. 
In  common  death,  and  together  bound 
In  the  line  that  circled  them  round  and  round, 

So  looped  and  tangled  together, 
That  their  fate  was  involved  in  a  dark  mystery 
As  to  which  was  the  catcher  and  which  the  catchee; 
For  the  fish  was  hooked  hard  and  fast  by  the  gill, 
And  the  darkey  was  lassoed  around  the  heel, 

And  each  had  died  by  the  other! 
And  the  fishermen  thought  it  could  never  be  known, 

After  all  their  thinking  and  figuring, 
Whether  the  nigger  a-fishing  had  gone, 

Or  the  fish  had  gone  out  a-niggering." 

P.  of  Va.— 18 


274  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

There  is  a  tragedy  hidden  in  these  three  simple  stanzas : — 

"  The  tips  of  the  forest  shimmer 

In  the  glow  of  the  saddening  skies; 
They  seem  like  the  parting  kisses 
Of  summer  before  he  flies. 

"  The  tear-drops  stand  on  mine  eyelids, 

Or  lie  unwept  in  my  heart: 
The  scene  brings  back  in  a  vision 
The  moment  that  saw  us  part. 

"  I  knew  we  must  part  forever, 

And  saw  that  thine  hours  would  be  brief, 
That  I  was  departing  Summer, 
And  thou  wert  the  dying  leaf." 

Our  author  could  write  beautiful  prose  as  well  as  beautiful 
verse.  A  few  days  before  his  death  in  1887,  after  a  long  illness, 
he  wrote:  "Like  little  children  tired  of  play,  who,  weary  of 
their  toys,  find  them  out,  break  them,  and  fall  asleep,  is  a  man 
who  feels  mortal  sickness  upon  him,  and  looks  back  upon  his 
past  life.  How  empty  seem  the  toys  he  has  played  with;  how 
paltry  his  little  victories;  how  puny  the  things  for  which  he 
gave  his  toil,  his  blood,  his  tears;  how  less  still  those  triumphs 
over  weaker  rivals  and  the  dripping  blade  that  he  had  borne  so 
proudly.  Yes,  Nature  breaks  these  toys  for  us  as  the  majesty 
of  death — the  eternal — begins  to  soothe  our  world-worn  senses/' 
Let  this  stand  as  a  fitting  conclusion  of  our  review  of  this  gifted, 
versatile  man. 

Mrs.  W.  C.  Day.— Mrs.  W.  C.  Day,  of  Danville,  Va.,  is  the 
author  of  The  Blended  Flags,  which  was  published  in  1898. 
The  flags  referred  to  in  the  title  are  of  course  the  flags  of  the 
Union  and  Confederacy.  The  blending  was  effected  by  the  war 
with  Spain,  in  which  the  North  and  the  South  united  in  freeing 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  275 

Cuba  from  oppression.  The  conception  involved  in  the  title  of 
the  book  is  not  a  bad  one;  for  surely  no  other  event  since  the 
close  of  the  Civil  War  has  done  so  much  to  allay  sectional  feel- 
ing. 

The  poems  in  the  little  volume  are  suggested  by  various  inci- 
dents of  the  Spanish  war.  Remember  the  Maine  teaches  the 
old  lesson  that  "the  wages  of  sin  is  death."  Organization 
which  is  given  in  full,  does  honor,  not  only  to  the  commander, 
but  also  to  the  man  behind  the  guns : — 

"'Fire  when  you  are  ready!  '  said 

The  chief  to  his  gallant  crew — 
The  order  flashed,  as  ship  and  ship 
In  line  of  battle  drew. 

"  His  record  stands  as  calm  and  brave 
On  the  eve  of  that  conflict  grand; 
But  remember  the  men  were  ready,  when 
He  gave  that  cool  command!  " 

Dewey  and  Hobson  have  recognition,  and  there  is  also  a  word 
of  praise  for  the  courage  of  the  Spaniards.  A  more  laborious 
apprenticeship  to  the  poetic  art — the  price  paid  even  by  the 
most  gifted  for  supreme  excellence — would  have  improved  the 
quality  of  the  verse. 

Henry  Mazyck  Clarkson. — We  do  not  read  far  in  Dr.  Clark- 
son's  Songs  of  Love  and  War  without  experiencing  a  sense  of 
delight.  Perhaps  there  is  a  feeling  of  pleased  surprise  growing 
out  of  the  contrast  between  the  sober-looking  cover  of  the  volume 
and  the  genial  spirit  of  its  contents.  The  author  does  not  take 
himself  or  his  work  too  seriously ;  yet  his  poetic  skill  and  breadth 
of  culture  lift  him  far  above  the  commonplace.  His  affluent 
versification  never  fails  in  its  easy  flow;  and  the  threefold 
division  of  the  poems — love,  politics,  and  war — indicates  the 
wide  scope  of  his  thought  and  interest.  The  interesting  vol- 


276  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

ume  before  us  may  be  regarded  as  containing  the  obiter  dicta 
of  a  broad  and  busy  life. 

The  spirit  of  the  Songs  of  Love  and  War  may  be  gathered 
from  the  opening  poem  addressed  to  his  friend,  Mr.  H.  W. 
Moran : — 

"  You  wonder,  my  friend,  why  so  seldom  I  print 

The  fanciful  thought  which  I  weave  into  verse; 
You  flatter  my  Muse  by  your  delicate  hint 

Of  fame  in  the  future,  of  gold  in  my  purse: 
You  ask  why  I  write,  if  but  few  are  to  read; 

You  talk  of  the  wasting  of  talent  and  time; 
I  covet  not  fame,  am  accustomed  to  need, 

And  men  do  not  offer  their  riches  for  rhyme. 

Consider  the  lark!     How  he  rises  on  wing, 

And  mounts  to  the  sky,  through  ethereal  air! 
He  sings  as  he  soars;  'tis  his  nature  to  sing, 

To  warble  his  notes  tho'  no  listener  be  near: 
I  seek  not  for  fortune,  I  sigh  not  for  fame, 

I  follow  my  Muse  into  forest  or  street; 
In  sorrow,  in  gladness,  I  sing  all  the  same, 

I  sing  because  singing  itself  is  so  sweet." 

Throughout  the  sentimental  pieces  there  is,  in  addition  to 
admirable  lyrical  form,  a  rare  delicacy  of  thought  and  expres- 
sion. Take  a  stanza,  for  example,  from  Do  you  Remember? — a 
poem  descriptive  of  a  lover's  stroll  by  the  banks  of  the 
Rivanna : — 

"  And  I  remember  'round  your  throat  a  bit  of  ancient  lace, 

And  from  your  pin 
A  ribbon  fluttering  with  delight  whene'er  it  touched  your  face 

Or  dimpled  chin; 
Another  clasped  your  pretty  waist,  and  both  were  dainty  blue, 

Just  like  your  eyes — 
That  is — if  anything  God  ever  made  could  match  that  hue, 

Except  the  skies." 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  277 

In  several  of  the  poems  there  is  a  play  of  humor — that  sense 
which  preserves  for  us  a  perfect  sanity  of  judgment.  When 
asked  for  a  lock  of  his  hair  to  braid  in  a  "family  twist/'  he 
gallantly  gives  it  with  the  remark — 

"  I  send  every  thread  I  can  possibly  spare, 
Whilst  knowing  each  strand  will  be  missed." 

A  glance  at  the  prepossessing  portrait  of  the  author,  which 
forms  the  frontispiece  of  the  book,  reveals  the  sincere  conviction 
with  which  these  lines  must  have  been  written.  The  same  sense 
of  humor  appears  in  The  Thread  of  Gold,  which  his  wife  finds 
on  his  shoulder — her  own  hair  being  a  different  hue — and  in 
A  Lesson  in  Laconics,  when  he  was  guided  across  a  swollen 
stream  by — 

"  A  maid  of  the  mountains,  bare-footed  and  blushing." 

Dr.  Clarkson  has  a  strong  sense  of  the  tragedy  of  life.  Not 
infrequently  his  lyre  is  attuned  to  tears.  A  Life  in  Five  Chap- 
ters brings  before  us  in  succession  "  a  babe  upon  her  mother's 
breast,"  "  later  on  a  laughing  lass,"  then  at  the  altar  "  a  fault- 
less type  of  finished  womanhood." 

"  And  next  I  saw  her  on  her  dying  bed, 

When  life  had  nothing  left  but  lees; 
There  was  no  future  way  she  feared  to  tread, 
Nor  dreaded  she  Death's  mysteries. 

"  I  saw  sad  women  with  their  faces  hid, 

As  strong-armed  men  a  coffin  bore — 
I  heard  dank  clods  dropped  on  a  casket-lid, 
Then,  '  Dust  to  Dust ' — and  all  was  o'er." 

There  is  not  space  to  speak  of  the  broad  tolerant  spirit  that 


278  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

breathes  in  Who  Knows?  or  of  the  chivalrous  heart  that  pours 
forth  its  sympathies  in  Woman's  Work.  In  the  political  and 
martial  poems  we  find  a  high-souled  honesty  and  patriotism. 
In  The  Lee  Statue  Unveiled,  we  have  a  fine  tribute  to  the  great 
Southern  leader.  Its  firm  texture  may  be  judged  from  the 
opening  stanza: — 

"  Though  Victory  crowneth  not  thy  brow, 

Thou  stand'st  to-day,  unveiled, 
Type  of  the  manliest  manhood,  thou, 

That  ever  fighting,  failed. 
Well  may'st  thou  hold  aloft  thy  head; 

Immortal  is  its  crown; 
And  though  the  cause  thou  led'st  be  dead, 
Deathless  is  thy  renown!  " 

J.  H.  Booton. — Fugitive  Lyrics,  by  John  Heiskell  Booton, 
appeared  in  Salem,  Va.,  in  1899.  As  indicated  in  this  thin 
volume,  Mr.  Booton  has  the  gift  of  poetic  utterance.  He  does 
not  dwell  on  deep  or  mystic  themes,  and  the  sweep  of  his  muse 
has  not,  up  to  this  time,  been  very  wide.  But  his  best  efforts 
are  characterized  by  a  delicacy  of  fancy  and  a  grace  of  expression 
that  are  at  once  pleasing  and  full  of  promise.  His  poetic 
effusions  have  hitherto  been  an  agreeable  diversion  and  exer- 
cise— the  Sittings  of  a  bird  as  it  makes  trial  of  its  newly  dis- 
covered powers.  But  should  he  hereafter  recognize  poetry  as  a 
vocation  or  seriously  set  himself  to  the  voicing  of  a  great  mes- 
sage, it  would  be  in  his  power  to  add  lustre  to  the  future  annals 
of  Virginia  poetry. 

While  many  of  Mr.  Booton's  poems  deal  with  fanciful  situa- 
tions, such  as  a  Sylvan  Nocturne,  Alma,  and  Abendlied,  there 
is  now  and  then  a  strain  that  issues  from  the  heart.  In  the 
brief  lyric  called  Song,  his  love  of  nature,  in  its  beautiful  forms 
in  the  Valley  of  Virginia,  is  revealed  in  unwonted  power.  To 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  279 

him  the  laurels  of  song  and  the  plaudits  of  the  marveling  mul- 
titude are  not  equal  to  the  charm  of  mountain  cliffs  and  wood- 
land minstrelsy : — 

"  Take  me  back  to  where  the  granite  boulders  glisten; 
Let  me  breathe  again  the  fragrance  of  the  pine; 
Let  me  lie  among  the  bending  ferns  and  listen 

To  the  minstrels  perched  upon  the  pendant  vine. 

Let  my  spirit  breathe  the  grandeur  of  the  mountain; 

Let  me  hear  the  breezes  whisper  when  they  blow; 
Let  me  listen  to  the  flowing  of  the  fountain, 

And  the  falling  of  the  waters  far  below." 

A  Girl  of  To-day  and  When  Cupid  Holds  the  Lines  are  in 
lighter  vein.  The  moral  of  the  former  is,  that  the  arch  and 
alluring  ways  of  the  coquette  are  not  to  be  taken  too  much  to 
heart : — 

"  There  are  too  many  others  to  grieve,  my  love, 
Far  too  many  others  to  grieve." 

And  as  to  the  latter, — 

"  So  let  life  run  where'er  it  may, 

And  ill  be  fate's  designs; 
The  roughest  road's  a  pleasant  way, 
When  Cupid  holds  the  lines." 

As  representing  the  author's  poetic  gifts  at  their  best,  we  quote 
entire  his  New  Year  Nocturne,  which  was  written  at  the  close 
of  1898,  and  contains  a  reference  to  the  war  with  Spain : — 

"  A  wind  moves  through  the  night 

On  wings  that  shiver — 

On  icy  wings  through  pearly  chill  moonlight, 
Beyond  the  stars  that  glisten  weirdly  bright, 

Away  forever. 


280  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

"  On  icy  wings  that  shed  the  downy  snows 

The  spirit  flees, 

Bearing  away  to  the  vales  where  Lethe  flows 
The  vanished  year  red  with  a  myriad  woes, 
Leaving  us  peace. 

"  And  unto  Thee,  whose  love  will  bid  the  snows 

To  melt,  and  cleanse  the  earth  of  gore, 
O  Prince  of  Peace,  we  pray  that  Sharon's  rose 
May  in  the  valleys  of  our  hearts  repose 
Untrampled  evermore." 

William  Dudley  Powers. — Mr.  Powers  is  the  author  of  Uncle 
Isaac,  or  Old  Days  in  the  South,  which  appeared  in  Richmond 
in  1899.  The  general  purpose  of  this  volume,  as  might  be  in- 
ferred from  the  alternative  title,  is  to  picture  the  poetic  side  of 
old  Southern  life.  This  is  first  done  in  an  introductory  essay 
in  prose,  in  which  we  have  a  pleasing  picture  of  ante-bellum 
feudalism.  "  There  were  vassals,"  we  are  told,  "  but  the  vassal 
was  loved  by  the  lord  of  the  manor.  The  lady,  so  refined  and 
gentle  that  the  caste  feeling  was  forgotten,  met  and  touched  and 
spoke  to  those  who  must  come  and  go  at  her  bidding  in  such 
manifest  friendship  that  the  tie  which  bound  them  one  to  the 
other  was  that  of  affection  rather  than  that  of  ownership/' 

The  poetic  part  of  the  book,  covering  nearly  two  hundred 
pages,  consists  of  thirteen  cantos,  in  which  Uncle  Isaac  gives 
his  Christmas  recollections,  describes  the  day  "  when  Marse  Ran' 
got  kilt/'  laments  the  passing  away  of  the  old  time  religion, 
and  dwells  on  other  kindred  themes.  The  poem,  written  in  un- 
mitigated negro  dialect,  employs  the  unusual  iambic  heptameter 
line.  The  following  extract,  in  which  Uncle  Isaac  takes  a  rather 
pessimistic  view  of  things,  will  serve  for  illustration: — 

"  De  times  is  changed,  Marse  Charley,  an'  de  worl'  ain't 

gwine  las'  long, 

De  peoples  got  to  projectin'  an'  doin'  things  dat's  wrong. 
Dey's  lef  deir  nat'rul  bus'nes  an'  is  tryin'  to  take  a  han' 
In  doin'  de  Almighty's  work  an'  managin'  His  plan." 


CHAPTEE  XIX 
Poets  from  1900  to  1907 

Benjamin  C.  Moomaw. — Songs  in  the  Night  is  a  pamphlet 
volume  of  some  fifty-odd  pages,  the  author  of  which  is  Mr. 
Benjamin  C.  Moomaw,  of  Covington,  Va.  It  was  published  in 
1900,  and  designed  for  private  circulation  among  the  author's 
friends.  Its  thirty  lyrics  are  the  fruitage  of  thought  rather  than 
of  fancy,  and  express  the  poet's  views  of  various  phases  of  in- 
dividual and  social  life.  The  prevailing  tone  is  religious ;  many 
of  the  themes  are  suggested  by  Scripture  passages,  and  the 
closing  pages  are  devoted  to  hymns  of  average  excellence.  It 
would  have  been  better  for  the  verse,  had  the  author  been  able 
to  look  on  the  world  and  life  with  larger  sympathies. 

On  May  13,  1907,  the  author  delivered  the  Tercentenary 
poem  at  the  Jamestown  Exposition.  As  is  shown  by  his  ode 
entitled  Freedom's  Empire  in  the  work  before  us,  he  is  capable 
of  comprehensive  thought  and  forceful  expression.  He  is 
deeply  impressed  by  the  obvious  destiny  of  America,  which,  as 
the  land  of  freedom,  "bears  the  world's  great  hope  within  her 
breast."  He  recognizes,  in  spite  of  its  years  of  terror  and 
despair,  the  providential  results  of  the  Civil  War. 

"But  lo!  from  out  that  carnival  of  strife 
Sprang  freedom's  world  to  yet  more  glorious  life, 
Winged  for  the  flight  sublime  of  centuries  to  come." 

Mr.  Moomaw,  whose  principal  field  of  activity  has  been  the 
world  of  affairs,  has  found  in  poetry  only  a  pleasurable  avoca- 
tion. A  strong  literary  impulse  seems  to  lie  behind  his  poetical 
activity — an  impulse  that  has  triumphed  over  the  toils  and  per- 

[281] 


282  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

plexities  of  business.  The  verse  that  springs  from  this  inner 
necessity  will  always  have  at  least  the  virtue  of  sincerity.  But 
the  poet  does  not  make  any  high  claim  for  his  "unpretentious 
lays":— 

"If  but  the  least  they  help  to  lift 

A  single  soul  into  the  light — 

If  but  a  lantern  in  the  night, — 

"Tis  not  in  vain,  my  humble  gift." 

The  poem  It  is  I  is  a  graphic  picture  of  the  well-known  scene 
on  the  sea  of  Galilee.  A  Thought  is  a  brief  treatment  of  the 
theme  of  Paradise  lost  and  regained.  The  Bethlehem  Song  is  an 
expansion  of  the  angelic  chorus  of  "  peace  on  earth,  good  will  to 
men."  In  the  Passage  of  the  Red  Sea,  the  story  of  Exodus  is 
told  with  fine  pictorial  effect  until  at  last — 

"  The  flower  of  Egypt  sleeps  beneath,  the  wave." 

These  few  successive  titles  from  the  first  part  of  the  Songs 
in  the  Night  will  give  some  idea  of  the  poet's  prevailing  range 
and  tone. 

Two  or  three  times  Mr.  Moomaw  falls  into  the  vein  of  irony 
and  satire.  This  feature  of  his  work  is  best  represented  in 
The  Church  of  the  Select,  which  portrays  a  fashionable  con- 
gregation on  "  Tony  Avenue."  The  poem  does  ample  justice  to 
the  choir,  which  rendered  "the  songs  of  Zion  with  the  up-to- 
datest  art,"  as  also  to  the  clergyman,  who  represented  "the 
latest,  brightest  pattern  of  the  seminary  brand."  The  preacher's 
views  of  sin  were  toned  down  to  a  point  not  to  offend  the  sensi- 
bilities of  his  congregation ;  and — 

"  He  touched  on  hell  at  intervals,  a  dilettante  touch; 
It  was  an  isolation  for  vulgar  folks,  and  such. 
Nice  people  in  the  other  world  would  never  have  to  meet 
The  very  common  kind  who  live  on  Population  street. 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  283 

"  'Twas  voted  that  he  fully  proved  his  proposition  fair; 
The  Bible  says  that  but  a  few  shall  be  elected  there. 
'Tis  true  the  Book  has  lately  shown  a  rather  doubtful  light, 
But  then,  admitted  it  must  be,  in  some  things  it  is  right." 

There  is  a  good  deal  of  wholesome  truth  in  Proverbs.  A  few 
are  quoted: — 

"  The  hidden  life  may  yet  be  richly  sown: 
'Tis  better  to  be  loved  than  to  be  known. 

"  To  all  who  boast  of  a  superior  creed: 
A  godly  life  is  still  the  greatest  need. 

"Learn  thou  this  lesson  in  the  world's  vain  strife: 
Love  is  the  solace  of  this  earthly  life." 

There  is  space  for  but  one  more  illustrative  passage.  It  is 
taken  from  the  poem  Courage,  which  teaches  the  important 
lesson  of  faith,  strength,  and  heroism.  The  poet  no  doubt 
speaks  out  of  the  fulness  of  his  own  experience. 

"  Bear  a  firm  soul  amid  the  woes 
Which  hem  the  troubled  spirit  round. 
Behold,  on  this  contested  ground 
We  win  the  empire  of  the  stars. 

'Be  strong  in   faith,   for   in   that  strength 
We  conquer  all  the  brood  of  cares. 
It  is  the  wavering  faith  which  wears 
The  courage  out  of  life,  at  length." 

We  understand  that  Mr.  Moomaw  is  soon  to  publish  another 
and  larger  volume  of  poetry.  No  doubt  it  will  show  a  wider 
range  of  subject  and  a  more  finished  grace  of  style.  The  serious 
purpose  and  earnest  moral  tone  of  Songs  in  the  Night  may  well 
serve  as  a  prologue  to  higher  achievement. 


284  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

Dr.  Quarles. — Dr.  James  A.  Quarles  is  widely  known  as  a 
philosopher  and  preacher.  Before  his  call  to  Washington  and 
Lee  University  in  1886  as  professor  of  philosophy,  he  had  filled 
prominent  pulpits  in  the  Presbyterian  church.  He  is  not  un- 
known as  a  writer  of  prose;  for  besides  his  contributions  to 
periodical  literature,  he  is  the  author  of  a  Life  of  F.  T. 
Kemper,  which  appeared  in  1884.  What  is  not  commonly 
known  is  his  divagation  into  the  fields  of  poetry;  for  he  has 
concealed  his  identity  under  the  euphonious  pseudonym  of 
j'Dunlora,"  and  has  not  allowed  the  biographical  dictionaries 
to  mention  his  efforts. 

Yet  there  is  no  ground  for  this  concealment  further  than  the 
gentle  odium  that  is  too  apt,  in  this  prosaic  age,  to  be  attached 
to  the  poetic  character.  The  Via  Dolor osa,  printed  in  Louis- 
ville in  1900,  is  a  condensed  epic,  the  conception  and  craftsman- 
ship of  which  are  altogether  commendable.  The  general  theme, 
namely,  the  redemption  of  man,  has  been  treated  by  Milton, 
Pollok,  and  others;  but  nowhere  else,  not  even  in  Paradise  Re- 
gained, is  the  discussion  so  compact.  With  venturesome  flight, 
the  poem  describes  what  took  place  in  Heaven  when  God  pro- 
claimed that  man  might  be  saved  through  the  vicarious  death 
of  another: — 

"  The  word  was  scarcely  spoken,  ere  from  his 
Own  side,  the  right  hand  of  his  throne,  uprose 
The  Son  of  God,  and  pledged  himself  to  bear 
The  punishment  of  death  on  earth  in  place 
Of  guilty  man.     Archangel,  cherubim, 
And  seraphim,  with  mute  amazement  heard." 

Then  follows  a  succinct  account  of  the  life  of  Christ  on  earth, 
closing  with  the  scene  on  Calvary,  the  resurrection,  and  ascen- 
sion. The  distinctive  feature  of  the  poem  is  indicated  in  the 
alternative  title,  The  Travail  of  Christ's  Soul.  The  redemptive 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  285 

efficacy  of  Christ's  vicarious  suffering  is  found,  not  in  the  torture 
of  the  flesh,  but  in  the  agony  of  the  spirit. 

The  closing  lines,  descriptive  of  Christ's  return  to  the 
heavenly  city,  portray  a  sublime  scene: — 

"  Past  moons,  and  worlds,  and  suns, 
He  rises,  till  he  nears  the  pearly  gates. 
The  angels  shout,  '  Lift  up  your  heads,  O  gates ; 
Be  lifted  up,  ye  everlasting  doors; 
And  the  King  of  glory  shall  come  in.'    Who 
Is  this  King  of  glory?    The  Son  of  God  most  high, 
The  Lord,  the  Christ;  mighty  to  save  the  soul 
Of  man.    The  angels  form  in  serried  ranks 
To  greet  him  back.     The  spirits  of  the  just, 
Made  perfect  by  his  grace,  their  golden  crowns 
Cast  at  his  feet,  and  chant  the  paean  grand, 
'  The  Lamb  that  hath  been  slain  most  worthy  Is 
Of  all  the  power,  riches,  wisdom,  might, 
And  honor,  glory,  blessing.'     God  himself 
With  open  arms  receives  the  glorious  King,  , 
Who  gave  his  soul  for  man;  and  by  his  side 
He  seats  him:     GRACIOUS  LOBD  OF  HEAVEN  AND  EAETH, 
REDEEMER  OF  MANKIND." 

Robert  WMttet. — Robert  Whittet  is  a  son  of  Scotland;  and 
though  resident  for  many  years  in  Virginia,  "yet  the  recollec- 
tions of  the  old  home  and  the  friends  there  are  very  dear,"  he 
says,  "and  the  idiom  of  his  boyhood  still  remains  the  most  expres- 
sive." It  is  safe  to  say  that  the  best  verse  in  The  Bright  Side 
of  Suffering  and  Other  Poems  is  in  the  Scottish  dialect;  several 
of  them  remind  us  of  Burns,  and  would  do  the  great  Scottish 
lyrist  no  discredit.  Take,  for  example,  My  Jeanie : — 

"  Oh!  pure  as  day  was  Jeanie's  heart, 

And  sae,  I  trow,  thocht  mony  mair; 

And  ilk  ane  strave  wha'd  hae  the  art 

To  win  my  darling  Jeanie  fair; 


286  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

But  little  wist  they  wha  she  lo'ed, — 

To  whom  she'd  gi'en  that  heart  awa,— 

To  whom  her  gentle  lips  had  vowed, 
To  lo'e  him  best  amang  them  a'. 

"Oh!  beauty's  time's  aft  quickly  run —  ; 

Just  like  a  gleam  o'  golden  licht 
Dashed  frae  the  glowin'  autumn  sun, 

Ere  sinks  he  in  the  mirk  o'  nicht; 
But  she  has  beauty  o'  her  ain — 

'Twould  quell  a  weight  o'  saddening  cares; 
'Tis  mair  than  warlds  o'  gowden  grain, 

For  beauty  o'  the  soul  is  hers." 

We  are  reminded,  too,  of  Burns  in  the  gentle,  tolerant  spirit 
of  Foibles:— 

"  What  though  a  chiel  may  ance  do  wrang, 

Will  ye  mend  him  wi'  yer  clatter? 
Rumor  oftener  adds  a  whang 

Than  a'  it  does  to  mend  a  matter. 
Then  when  a  word  is  said  unkind, 

Let's  try  to  check  a'  useless  rallin'; 
It  is  a  maxim  gude  to  mind, 

That  ilka  body  has  their  failin.' " 

The  title  poem  of  the  volume  mentioned  is,  as  its  name  indi- 
cates, an  elaborate  discussion  of  the  brighter  aspects  of  suffer- 
ing. It  is  written  in  the  usual  didactic  measure — iambic  pen- 
tameter— and  covers  nearly  two  hundred  and  fifty  pages.  It  is 
divided  into  seven  parts  as  follows:  1.  Suffering  in  nature; 
2.  National  liberty  a  fruit  of  suffering;  3.  Suffering  in  the  in- 
dividual man ;  4.  Suffering  in  individual  experience ;  5.  Suffering 
in  individual  experience  continued;  6.  Trie  highest  conception 
of  suffering;  and  7.  A  summary.  The  conclusion  of  the  whole 
matter  is  given  in  lyric  form  at  the  close: — 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  287 

"  I  would  not  weary  in  the  path  of  life, 

Though  thickly  strewn  with  thorns  of  care; 
Nor  falter,  though  the  warfare's  rugged  strife 
May  make  me  pain  and  sorrow  share. 

"  I  know  that  every  step  from  day  to  day 

Has  been  arranged  of  God  for  me; 
And  that,  'mid  all  the  troubles  of  the  way, 
I  may  to  him  as  to  a  Father  flee." 

In  1900  appeared  Sonnets,  Mostly  on  Scripture  Tliemes,  with 
a  Few  Other  Poems.  The  occasion  and  purpose  of  the  Sonnets 
are  explained  in  the  preface.  They  "  were  originally  written  in 
illustration  of  some  thought  embodied  in  the  International 
Sunday-school  Lessons,  as  they  passed  in  review  week  after 
week,  and  were  published  in  The  Earnest  Worker,  a  magazine 
for  Sunday-school  teachers  issued  by  the  Committee  of  Publica- 
tion of  the  Presbyterian  Church,  South.  Appearing  in  scattered 
form,  and  attached  severally  to  the  lesson  of  the  day,  they  never 
elicited  much  notice,  and  now,  collected  together,  no  very  appre- 
ciative acceptance  is  expected  for  them;  and  yet  so  collected,  it 
is  hoped,  as  the  phalanx  is  more  powerful  than  the  skirmishing 
line,  they  may  find  a  fuller  welcome  from  former  friends  and 
readers  when  met  with  in  a  new  dress." 

There  are  two  hundred  and  thirty-seven  of  the  sonnets — the 
largest  number  ever  published  by  a  Virginia  poet.  The  manner 
in  which  the  subjects  were  fixed,  did  not,  in  many  cases,  leave 
much  room  for  freedom  and  inspiration.  The  sonnnets  are 
generally  constructed  with  skill;  yet,  in  spite  of  the  author's 
defense,  this  artificial  form  of  verse  has  sometimes  led  him  into 
a  dilution  of  thought  and  diffuseness  of  style  that  are  enfeebling 
and  unartistic.  The  following,  based  on  the  text,  "  There 
went  out  a  fame  of  him,"  is  one  of  the  clearest  and  best: — 


288  POETS   OF  VIRGINIA 

"  Ambition's  sons  are  oft  mistaken  men, 

And  lay  foundation  for  a  world-wide  name 
On  deeds  of  rapine  or  of  blood-bought  fame; 
But  'tis  in  paths  of  peace  the  noblest  gain 
The  brightest  chaplets;  'tis  heart  more  than  brain 
To  which  the  world  awards  its  best  acclaim; 
'Tis  deeds  of  love  and  service  that  inflame 
The  lasting  praise  history  lets  remain 
Upon  her  page;  the  heroes  in  life's  fight — 

Those  who  are  dearest  and  loved  the  most — 
Are  those  who've  suffered  in  the  cause  of  right, 
And  done  it  simply,  without  claim  or  boast! 
So  do  thy  deeds  of  grace,  Lord  Jesus,  shine, 
And  o'er  the  world  there  is  no  fame  like  thine." 

Sallie  S.  Gotten.— The  White  Doe,  by  Sallie  Southall  Gotten, 
is  a  poetic  rendering  of  the  story  of  Raleigh's  tragic  colony  on 
Roanoke  Island  in  1587,  and  of  the  beautiful  legend  which  sprang 
from  its  mysterious  disappearance.  It  was  on  this  island  that  the 
first  child  of  English  parentage  was  born  in  the  New  World. 
She  was  named  Virginia  Dare,  and  was  the  granddaughter  of 
John  White,  the  governor  of  the  colony. 

Not  long  after  the  founding  of  the  colony,  Governor  White 
returned  to  England  to  obtain  additional  supplies.  England 
was  threatened  with  invasion  by  the  Spanish  Armada;  and  the 
queen  needing  and  demanding  his  service,  it  was  three  years 
before  he  could  return  to  Roanoke.  His  colony  had  disap- 
peared; and  the  only  clue  to  its  fate  was  the  word  Croatoan, 
which  he  found  carved  on  a  tree.  The  fate  of  the  colony  is  a 
mystery,  which  historic  records  have  not  fully  solved. 

"  From  recent  search  into  the  subject  by  students  of  history," 
to  use  the  words  of  our  author  in  her  elaborate  preface,  "a 
chain  of  evidence  has  been  woven  from  which  it  has  come  to  be 
believed  that  the  lost  colony,  hopeless  of  succor  from  England, 
and  deprived  of  all  other  human  associations,  became  a  part  of 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  289 

a  tribe  of  friendly  Croatoan  Indians,  shared  their  wanderings, 
and  intermarried  with  them,  and  that  their  descendants  are  to 
be  found  to-day  among  the  Croatoan  Indians  of  Robeson  County, 
North  Carolina/' 

But  tradition  has  come  to  the  aid  of  authentic  history. 
There  is  a  legend  that  tells  us  that  the  colony,  threatened  by 
hostile  savages,  found  refuge  among  a  tribe  of  friendly  Indians, 
where  Virginia  Dare  grew  into  fair  maidenhood  and  moved  as 
an  inspiration  and  blessing.  At  length,  by  the  sorcery  of  a 
rejected  and  treacherous  lover,  she  was  changed  into  a  white 
doe,  which  roamed  the  island  with  a  charmed  life.  Finally 
true  love  triumphed  over  magic  and  restored  her  to  human 
form*  but  at  the  same  moment  she  died  from  a  silver  arrow  with 
which  a  cruel  chieftain  had  pierced  her  heart.  Such  in  brief 
is  the  substance  of  the  legend  and  the  poem. 

In  the  "  Prologue,"  which  is  a  brief  but  fitting  overture,  the 
keynote  of  the  poem  is  found : — 

"  In  the  tomb  of  vanished  ages  sleep  the  ungarnered  truths  of  Time, 
Where  the  pall  of  silence  covers  deeds  of  honor  and  of  crime; 
Deeds  of  sacrifice  and  danger,  which  the  careless  earth  forgets, 
There,  in  ever  deepening  shadows,  lie  embalmed  in  mute  regrets." 

Under  The  Seeds  of  Truth  there  is  a  description  of  "  Roanoke, 
1587,"  where— 

"  Shimmering  waters,  aweary  of  tossing, 
Hopeful  of  rest,  ripple  on  to  the  shore; 
Dimpling  with  light,  as  they  waver  and  quiver, 
Echoing  faintly  the  ocean's  wild  roar  " — 

together  with  a  versified  presentation  of  such  facts  as  have  been 
authentically  transmitted. 

Then  follows  The  Legend  of  the  White  Doe  in  six  brief  divi- 
sions as  follows:  1.  The  refugees;  2.  The  pale-face  maiden;  3. 

Savage  sorcery;  4.  The  counter  charm;  5.  The  hunt;  6.  The  silver 
P.  of  Va.— 19 


290  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

arrow.  The  story  is  well  told  in  trochaic  octosyllabic  verse, 
suggesting  Longfellow's  Hiawatha,  but  without  the  latter's  rep- 
etitions. The  following  lines  from  the  opening  of  the  third 
canto  will  show  the  skill  and  charm  with  which  the  story  is 
told:— 

"  Man-to-ac,  the  Mighty  Father, 
When  he  filled  the  earth  with  blessings, 
Deep  within  the  heart  of  Woman 
Hid  the  burning  Need-of-Loving; 
Which  through  her  should  warm  the  ages 
With  a  flame  of  mutual  feeling, 
Throbbing  through  her  sons  and  daughters 
With  a  force  beyond  their  power. 
And  this  law  of  human  loving, 
Changeless  through  unending  changes, 
Fills  each  loving  heart  with  yearning 
For  another  heart  to  love  it; 
And  against  this  ceaseless  craving, 
Creed,  nor  clime,  nor  color  standeth; 
Heart  to  heart  all  nature  crieth, 
That  the  earth  may  thrill  with  gladness. 
*  *  *  * 

"  Brave  O-kis-ko  loved  the  maiden 
With  a  love  which  made  him  noble; 
With  the  love  that  self-forgetting 
Fills  the  soul  with  higher  impulse. 
As  the  sun  with  constant  fervor, 
Heat  and  light  to  earth  bestowing, 
Seeks  for  no  return  of  blessing, 
Feels  no  loss  for  all  his   giving, — 
So  O-kis-ko  loved  Wi-no-na, 
Gave  her  an  his  heart's  rude  homage, 
Felt  no  loss  for  all  his  giving, 
Loved  her  for  the  joy  of  loving. 
Scorned  he  all  fatigue  and  danger 
Which    would    bring    her    food    or    pleasure; 
And  each  day  brought  proof  of  fealty, 
For   his   deeds   were   more   than   language. 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  291 


"  His  endeavor  pleased  the  maiden, 
And  her  eyes  beamed  kindly  on  him, 
Though  no  passion  stirred  her  pulses. 
For  sweet  maiden  hopes  and  fancies 
Filled  her  life  with  happy  dreaming, 
Ere  her  woman's  heart  awakened 
To  O-kis-ko's  patient  waiting. 
Waiting  for  her  eyes  to  brighten 
'Neath  the  ardor  of  his  glances; 
Waiting  for  her  soul  to  quicken 
With  the  answer  to  his  longing; 
Finding  sweet  content  in  silence, 
Glad  each  day  to  see  and  serve  him." 

Miss  Glasgow. — Miss  Ellen  Glasgow  is  a  native  of  Kichmond. 
In  1902  she  published  a  dainty  volume  of  verse  called  The  Free- 
man and  Other  Poems,  which  is  not  unworthy  of  her  excellent 
ability.  While  her  poetry  is  evidently  subordinate  to  her  main 
literary  vocation,  which  has  given  us  several  notable  novels,  it 
exhibits  a  careful  and  conscientious  art.  It  avoids  two  weak- 
nesses with  which  a  considerable  part  of  Virginia  verse  is 
chargeable:  it  is  neither  imitative  nor  commonplace.  From  the 
artistic  side  it  exemplifies  the  finished  and  independent  style 
characteristic  of  the  best  poetry  of  to-day. 

The  range  of  subjects  is  not  large,  nor  do  the  different  tones 
unite  in  forming  one  vast  and  varied  harmony.  But  the  gaze 
of  the  poet  has  gone  beneath  the  surface  of  life,  and  has 
fathomed  some  of  the  deepest  emotions  of  the  human  heart. 
She  has  a  keen  sense  of  human  folly  and  injustice.  In  the 
little  poem  Fame,  we  read: — 

"In  life  he  lived  among  them  and  they  cast 

Him  stones  for  bread; 

He  that  was  mightiest  of  them  all  had  not 
Whereon  to  lay  his  head. 


292  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

"  In  death,  where  flaming  poppies  fired  the  dust, 

They  brought  a  laurel  wreath: 
Honor  to  ashes  on  the  coffin  lid! 
Fame  to  the  skull  beneath." 

The  same  trenchant  indictment  of  the  world's  heartlessness 
is  found  in  the  poem  of  three  stanzas  called  Justice. 

The  dominant  spirit  of  the  book  is  a  virile  stoicism,  which  per- 
vades a  majority  of  the  poems.  The  poem  A  Prayer,  which 
begins  with  the  cry, — 

"  Grant  me  but  courage,  Lord," 
concludes  in  a  tone  of  rather  reckless  and  unbecoming  levity : — 

"  Thus  when  the  end  draws  near, 

With  lifted  head  let  me  the  potion  quaff, 
And  so — as  one  who  never  learned  to  fear — 
Pass  on  to  meet  Thy  judgment  with  a  laugh." 

The  stoicism  of  despair  is  splendidly  portrayed  in  the  title 
poem  The  Freeman,  the  theme  of  which  is  contained  in  the 
prefatory  quotation,  "  Hope  is  a  slave,  Despair  is  a  freeman  " : — • 

"  A  vagabond  between  the  East  and  West, 

Careless  I  greet  the  scourging  and  the  rod; 
I  fear  no  terror  any  man  may  bring, 
Nor  any  god. 

"  The  clankless  chains  that  bound  me  I  have  rent, 

No  more  a  slave  to  hope  I  cringe  or  cry; 
Captives  to  Fate,  men  rear  their  prison  walls, 
But  free  am  I. 

"I  tread  where  arrows  press  upon  my  path, 
I  smile  to  see  the  danger  and  the  dart; 
My  breast  is  bared  to  meet  the  slings  of  hate, 
But  not  my  heart. 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  293 

"  I  face  the  thunder  and  I  face  the  rain, 

I  lift  my  head,  defiance  far  I  fling — 
My  feet  are  set,  I  face  the  autumn  as 
I  face  the  spring. 

"  Around  me,  on  the  battle-fields  of  life, 

I  see  men  fight,  and  fail,  and  crouch  in  prayer; 
Aloft  I  stand  unfettered,  for  I  know 
The  freedom  of  despair." 

The  attitude  of  Miss  Glasgow  to  the  universe  is  that  of  "  a 
hunter  after  truth."  Her  aspirations,  if  not  her  beliefs,  go 
considerably  beyond  our  creeds.  She  is  unwilling  to  prove  a 
traitor  to  her  faithful  dog, — 

"  Or  prize  a  heaven  that  he  could  never  know." 

She  has  given  us  a  glimpse  of  her  faith  in  the  poem  A 
Creed : — 

"  In  truth  that  falsehood  cannot  span, 
In  the  majestic  march  of  Laws, 
That  weed  and  flower  and  worm  and  man 

Result  from  One  Supernal  Cause, 
In  doubts  that  dare  and  faiths  that  cleave, 
Lord,  I  believe." 

All  this  will  be  recognized  as  a  vigorous  but  unusual  note  in 
Virginia  song. 

Samuel  M.  Firey. — The  Poems  of  Samuel  M.  Firey,  of  Eoa- 
noke,  Virginia,  were  written  as  "  a  Lethe  to  the  languor  of  old 
age."  The  author  expresses  his  sympathy  with  The  Last  Min- 
strel, who  found  in  "the  harp  his  sole  remaining  joy."  As  he 
tells  us  further  in  his  preface,  the  poems  "  were  not  begun  with 
a  view  to  publication.  Delight  grew  with  the  work,  and  the 
poems  likewise.  At  length  the  desire  rose  that  they  be  not 


294  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

wholly  lost;  that  the  sentiments  therein  might  be  perpetuated, 
and  the  places  loved  might  live  in  song."  He  had  the  sweet 
satisfaction  of  discovering  and  developing  an  unsuspected  lyri- 
cal faculty. 

The  poet  does  not  cherish  the  heresy  of  "  art  for  art's  sake." 
We  look  in  vain  for  that  faultless  perfection  of  rhythm,  rhyme, 
and  diction,  which  follow  an  exaggerated  reverence  for  form. 
In  the  volume  before  us,  thought  is  more  than  form,  and  senti- 
ment is  more  than  thought.  "The  heart  is  a  function  higher 
than  the  head,"  says  the  preface,  "  and  the  things  thereof  must 
be  uppermost,  or  a  people  is  sure  to  degenerate  in  moral  sense." 
The  poems  are  all  brief  lyrics,  and  cover  a  considerable  range; 
but  everywhere  there  is  a  strong  moral  sentiment — the  tone  of 
an  upright  soul.  In  the  poem  My  Harp,  the  author  says : — 

"  Nor  will  it  dive  into  folly's  realm, 
To  bring  up  slime  for  the  jests  of  men; 
Or  stoop  to  flatter  the  rich  and  great, 
To  win  applause,  or  gain  estate." 

As  is  natural  in  advancing  years,  there  is  a  frequent  recurrence 
to  the  scenes  of  childhood  and  youth.  The  Old  Mill,  The  Old 
Sycamore,  and  the  Old  School  Ground  are  filled  with  precious 
memories.  In  Long  Ago  we  read : — 

"  We  visit  the  brook  we  used  to  wade, 
The  trees  that  gave  us  the  playhouse  shade, 
The  meadow  where  barefoot  boys  we  played 
In  green  Old  Long  Ago. 

"  The  garden  hedged  with  its  fruits  and  flowers, 
The  wildwood  deep  with  its  arching  bowers, 
And  dripping  sweet  with  the  vernal  showers, 
Of  balmy  Long  Ago." 

There  are  many  such  lyrics — unsung  it  may  be — in  the  bosoms 
of  us  all,  as  the  silver  begins  to  steal  into  our  locks. 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  295 

In  Mr.  JFirey's  poems  we  recognize  a  strong  love  for  the 
beauties  of  nature.  Spring,  The  Stars,  October,  and  many 
other  poems  dwell  on  the  charms  of  earth  and  sky.  With 
Wordsworth  he  holds  that  Nature  is  a  great  teacher,  and  that 
its  lofty  cliffs  and  whispering  trees  often  have  a  higher  message 
for  the  human  soul  than  that  of  books.  In  The  Wood,  he 
says : — • 

"  Tis  wise  to  turn  betimes  away,  into  the  pleasant  wood, 
In  nature's  courts  to  spend  a  day,  in  cheerful  solitude; 
'Tis  sweet  to  banish  grief  and  care,  anxiety  and  pride, 
And  sit  down  like  a  hermit  there,  some  falling  stream  beside; 

"  And  watch  the  careless  ripples  go,  adown  the  rocky  bed, 
And  hear  the  murmurs  far  below,  and  music  overhead; 
The  jay  and  thrush  amid  the  trees,  the  partridge  from  the  ground, 
Pour  their  gay  songs  upon  the  breeze,  till  all  the  groves  resound." 

In  the  volume  before  us,  Mill-Mountain,  which  had  hitherto 
remained  unsung,  is  duly  celebrated.  It  is  from  the  base  of  this 
mountain  that  the  clear  stream,  aptly  called  Crystal  Spring, 
bursts  forth,  from  which  the  city  of  Roanoke  derives  its  principal 
supply  of  water. 

"  Mill-Mountain,  thy  lesson,  O  be  it  not  lost! 
May  we  from  the  shadow,  the  storm,  and  the  frost, 
Come  mellowed  and  golden;  and  smit  by  the  rod, 
Give  streams  that  shall  gladden  the  City  of  God — 
May  build  to  the  truth,  o'er  the  dust  of  decay, 
A  pillar  to  stand,  while  the  worlds  pass  away." 

Our  author  is  a  friend  of  education;  but  at  the  same  time  he 
recognizes  and  deplores  the  error  of  an  over-crowded  course  of 
instruction.  The  physical  needs  of  our  children  should  not  be 
disregarded;  and  by  a  sacrifice  of  health  and  a  neglect  of  the 
moral  sense,  learning  may  be  too  dearly  bought : — 


296  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

"Knowledge,  yea;  but  cramming,  nay! 
Give  the  cheerful  boy  his  play; 
Knowledge  is  not  all  of  schools — 
Many  graduated  fools!  " 

A  considerable  part  of  the  volume  is  taken  up  with  poems  on 
Scripture  themes.  They  are  usually  metrical  versions  of  the 
sacred  narrative,  to  which  they  adhere  so  closely  that  there  has 
been  but  little  room  for  the  play  of  poetic  fancy  or  the  novelties 
of  higher  criticism. 

Carter  W.  Wormley. — Mr.  Carter  W.  Wormley,  a  young 
journalist  of  Kichmond,  is  the  author  of  a  neat  volume  which 
bears  the  simple  title  Poems.  It  contains  some  forty  lyrics  of 
occasionally  luxuriant  measure,  in  which  one  catches  sometimes 
an  echo  of  Poe.  Here  is  the  closing  stanza  of  Shadows  of  the 
Lake — a  significant  symbolistic  poem: — 

"  In  oblivion's  dominion, 

Shadowed  by  the  plume 
Of  a  wounded  fiend,  whose  pinion, 

Drooping  pinion,  sheds  its  gloom, 
Lies  encradled  in  its  Horror  that  dim  lake, 
Where  the  moonbeams  stretched  as  pallid  fears  which  tremble 
but  ne'er  break." 

The  poems,  which  show  a  thorough  acquaintance  with  the  laws 
of  versification,  reveal  a  wide  range  of  sympathy.  There  is  ten- 
derness in  such  poems  as  Come,  Little  Girl  and  To  a  Bayou  Lily; 
there  is  compassion  with  the  unfortunate  in  Judge  Not,  A  Ballad 
of  Burdens,  and  Fortune's  Flag;  there  is  appreciation  of  duty 
quietly  but  heroically  done  in  Bill  Cranton  and  the  Burial  of 
Officer  A — .  Though  these  poems  are  not  charged  with  an 
impressive  power  of  thought  and  diction — a  quality  usually 
acquired  only  in  the  long  and  hard  schooling  of  life — they  do 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  297 

credit  to  the  poet's  inind  and  heart.     They  make  pleasant  read- 
ing for  a  quiet  half -hour. 

As  representative  of  Mr.  Wormley's  poetry  at  its  best,  the 
brief  lyric  Evening,  which  will  be  read  with  interest  both  for 
its  description  of  a  vesper  seashore,  and  its  subtle  symbolism  of 
life,  is  given  in  full : — 

"  I  stood  at  sunset  by  the  solemn  sea 
And  hearkened  to  its  serious  refrain; 
The  sad  and  muffled  murmurs   of  the  main, 
Sounding  their  anthem  to  eternity. 

"  The  dusk  of  twilight  dimmed  the  weary  world, 
I  lingered  yet,  though  shadows  darker  fell; 
When,  at  my  foot,  half  buried,  lay  a  shell, 

And  in  its  bosom  beauty  smiled  impearled. 

"  In  golden  youth  my  soul  began  a  quest 
Of  happiness,  distinction,  of  renown; 
I  lingered  yet,  though  shadows  darker  fell; 

When  darkness  brought  its  guerdon,  and  I  rest." 

The  poems  of  this  volume  are  "  lovingly  dedicated  to  the  little 
woman  who  is  now  my  wife;"  and  she  has  good  reason  to  be 
proud  of  them.  We  cannot  close  this  review  without  joining  in 
the  prayer  of  the  dedicatory  lines : — 

"  His  benediction  gently  furl 

Its  wings  above  thy  fate, 
And  angels   guard  the  little   girl 
Who  weighs  but  ninety-eight." 

Miss  Kathleen  Donleavy. — Miss  Kathleen  DonLeavy,  the 
author  of  a  Bunch  of  Flowers,  was  brought  up  in  Richmond, 
where  she  was  educated  in  St.  Joseph's  Academy.  A  taste 
for  writing  early  introduced  her  to  the  columns  of  the 
religious  and  the  secular  press.  Later  she  established  and 


298  POETS   OF  VIRGINIA 

edited  The  Catholic  Friend,  which,  as  might  be  inferred  from 
its  name,  was  zealously  devoted  to  the  interests  of  the  Eoman 
Catholic  Church.  After  nearly  five  years,  during  which  the 
paper  made  many  friends  in  Virginia  and  other  States,  its  pub- 
lication was  suspended  because  of  the  failing  health  of  its  hope- 
ful and  enterprising  founder. 

To  a  sensitive  nature,  which  is  keenly  alive  to  all  forms  of 
beauty,  the  transition  from  prose  to  poetry  is  at  times  natural 
and  almost  inevitable.  We  are  not  surprised,  therefore,  that 
Miss  DonLeavy  found  pleasure  in  weaving  her  thoughts  and 
feelings — not  always  as  smoothly  and  perfectly  as  could  be 
wished — into  verse.  The  results  of  her  poetic  efforts  are  gath- 
ered into  an  attractive  volume  entitled  a  Bunch  of  Flowers.  It 
is  reverently  dedicated  to  His  Holiness  Pope  Pius  X. — "our 
King,  our  Father,  our  Beloved  " — and  it  had  the  good  fortune 
to  gain  papal  recognition  and  to  secure  the  authoress  the 
apostolic  blessing. 

A  strong  moral  and  religious  tone  pervades  the  brief  lyrics — 
nearly  a  hundred  in  number — which  compose  the  Bunch  of 
Flowers.  The  mission  of  the  book,  to  use  the  writer's  own 
words,  "  is  to  give  substantial  expression  to  our  life's  highest 
ideal — the  beautiful,  the  good,  and  the  true — and  its  proceeds 
will  cheerfully  befriend  good  literature,  which,  like  our  Divine 
Master — the  only  real  embodiment  of  the  beautiful,  good,  and 
true — is  so  sadly  depreciated  in  this,  our  wondrous  age  of 
boasted  '  progress/ ?; 

A  considerable  number  of  the  poems — The  Immaculate  Con- 
ception, My  Rosary,  The  Assumption,  and  some  others — are 
devoted  to  themes  connected  with  the  peculiar  beliefs  and  usages 
of  the.  church  to  which  the  poet  belongs.  By  the  devout 
Catholic  these  doctrinal  or  ecclesiastical  poems  may  be  read  with 
interest  and  edification;  but  it  can  hardly  be  claimed  that  they 
embody  a  high  degree  of  poetic  excellence.  Indeed  only  poetic 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  299 

genius  of  extraordinary  power  can  lift  ecclesiastical  dogma  into 
the  upper  regions  of  song.  As  a  rule,  dogma  is  a  weight  that 
confines  the  flight  of  the  Muses  dangerously  near  the  levels  of 
prose.  But  in  the  case  of  Miss  DonLeavy,  whose  religious 
earnestness  is  everywhere  apparent,  the  gratification  of  the  artis- 
tic sense  is  far  less  an  object  than  the  strengthening  of  Christian 
faith. 

Our  authoress  is  at  her  best  in  describing  nature  and  portray- 
ing the  ordinary  experiences  of  life.  Though  she  has  not 
aspired  after  the  broad  outlook  on  the  world  met  with  in  the 
great  masters  of  song,  she  has  sometimes  given  pleasing  expression 
to  experiences  that  have  come  to  us  all.  Here  is  her  little  poem 
on  Heart  Music,  in  sentiment  and  metrical  form  one  of  the  best 
in  the  book : — 

"  Sweet  is  the  fragrance  of  flowers, 

The  song  of  the  murmuring  rill, 
Sunlight  gilding  morning  hours, 
And  the  moonlight  o'er  the  hill. 

"  Sweeter  than  sun  and  moon  above 

Purling  brook  and  fragrant  flowers, 
Are  eyes  that  look  on  us  with  love, 
And  smiles  that  answer  ours. 

"  Sweet  is  the  minstrelsy  of  birds, 

Warbling  their  merry  lays  of  cheer; 
But  sweetest  of  all  are  tender  words, 
Heart  music — sympathy  sincere." 

William  Page  Carter. — Echoes  from  the  Glen  is  a  neat, 
attractive  volume  by  William  Page  Carter.  It  is  dedicated  to 
the  memory  of  his  "  gentle  friend  John  Esten  Cooke,  tender 
and  guileless  as  a  little  child,  yet  rich  in  wisdom  and  in  intellect 
passing  strong."  We  learn  from  the  preface  that  the  poems 
were  published  "  more  than  partly  at  the  solicitation  of  my 


300  POETS   OF  VIRGINIA    ' 

friends;"  and  in  urging  this  step,  Mr.  Carter's  friends  showed 
more  discernment  than  has  been  exhibited  in  many  other  similar 
cases. 

The  lyrics  of  the  book,  more  than  fifty  in  number,  are  divided 
into  poems  of  sentiment,  war  poems,  dialect  verse,  Blue  Eidge 
lore,  and  miscellaneous.  Their  composition  covered  more  than 
the  Horatian  period — a  fact  that  may  in  part  explain  their  care- 
ful finish.  Though  some  of  the  poems  were  written,  as  the 
preface  tells  us,  in  boyhood,  there  is  nothing  juvenile  in  the 
sentiment  or  the  lyrical  technique.  They  are  the  work  of  a 
poetic  artist;  and  their  delicate  sentiment,  their  lilting  melody, 
and  their  varied  form  and  theme  make  the  volume  an  admirable 
contribution  to  Virginia  letters. 

In  the  poems  of  sentiment  we  find  a  prevailing  minor  key. 
There  is  a  looking  backward,  memories  filled  with  tears,  the 
shadows  of  the  even-time.  Take,  for  example,  the  last  stanza 
of  Sometime — a  poem  of  tender  pathos : — 

"  Sometime,  dear  heart,  (it  may  not  be  for  long,) 

We  shall  not  sit  together  hand  in  hand. 
It  is  the  flush  of  evening  and  its  song 

Comes  o'er  the  water  and  its  yellow  sand; 
It  is  the  time  of  evening,  and  I  hear 

Sweet  voices  that  I  have  not  heard  for  years 
Like  a  lute-string  in  the  twilight  clear; 

I  listen,  and  my  eyes  are  wet  with  tears. 
Sometime,  dear  heart,  when  eventide  goes  by, 

May  we  two  sit  together,  you  and  I." 

How  much  meaning  is  compressed  in  the  little  poem  Alas! 
One  feels  the  pathos  and  the  silent  tragedy  of  life : — 

"  The  autumn  storm  beats  o'er  the  vine-clad  hall ; 
The   autumn   leaves   are   dead,   the   rain-drops    fall, 
The  autumn  leaves  fly  to  the  window-sill; 
Within  is  soft  and  warm,  without  is  hard  and  chill. 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  301 

She  sits  alone;   'tis  twilight;   she  is  fair, 

The  fire  flame  makes  gold  her  nut-brown  hair, 

The  hands  are  soft  and  white,  the  mellow  glow 

Hath  caught  the  sad,  sweet  smile,  '  Ah  friend,  I  know,' 

she  said — 
(The  raindrops  fall), — 'The  leaves  are  dead'." 

The  same  tone  of  sadness  is  found  in  The  Little  Rose  of 
Shane,  Old  Songs,  These  Summer  Days,  When  the  Sun  Went 
Down,  "Remembrance,  and  many  others. 

The  war  songs  are  made  up  of  tributes  and  memories,  for  the 
poet  was  a  part  of  that  heroic  time.  In  I  Am  Dreaming  the 
great  leaders  of  the  Southern  armies — Lee,  Stuart,  Rodes,  A.  P. 
Hill,  Pickett,  and  others — pass  before  the  poet's  vision  and  re- 
ceive a  poet's  well-considered  tribute.  The  prevailing  spirit  of 
the  martial  poems  is  contained  in  the  following  lines  from 
Ashes  of  the  Past: — 

"  My  lyre's  tone 

Goes  outward  to  the  vast  of  perished  years, 
When  these  old  hills,  time-scathed  and  battle-scarred, 
Lay  blood-red  in  the  shadows  of  the  sun." 

Among  the  miscellaneous  poems  is  a  notable  one  entitled 
God  Bless  You,  Dear.  The  words  seem  to  be  addressed  to  a 
tenderly  loved  wife  who  has  passed  beyond  the  stars.  It  is  safe 
to  say  that  a  more  touching  poem  was  never  written  in  Virginia ; 
and  it  would  be  difficult  to  find  in  American  literature  another 
lyric  that  so  irresistibly  makes  its  way  to  the  fountain  of  tears. 

"  If  I  should  say  to-night,  '  God  bless  you,  dear,' 
And  stretch  my  hand  to  touch  your  sun-burst  hair, 
And  say,  and  say,  '  Good  night!  '  Oh,  would  you  hear? 
And  if  I  said,  '  Sweetheart!  '  Oh,  would  you  care? 
From  out  God's  holy  realms,  Oh!  would  you  hear, 
If  I  should  say  to-night,  '  God  bless  you,  dear? ' 


302  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

"  If  I  should  say  to-night,  '  I'm  tired,  dear,' 
And  stretch  my  hand  to  lay  it  in  your  own, 
And  say,  and  say;  '  Sweet  rest!  '  Oh,  would  you  hear? 
And  if  I  said  '  I'm  tired,'  would  its  tone 
Go  up  behind  the  stars,  and  would  you  hear, 
If  I  should  say  to-night,  'God  bless  you,  dear?' 

"  If  I  should  say  to-night,  '  The  years  are  drear,' 
And  send  my  tears  to  fill  the  ocean's  home, 
And  say,  and  say,  '  Oh,  life!  '  then  would  you  hear? 
And  if  I  said  '  Sweet  death!  '  Oh,  would  you  come 
And  lead  me  to  the  Master's  feet  and  hear 
Me  say  to-night,  to-night,  '  God  bless  you,  dear? ' " 

James  Lindsay  Gordon. — From  a  biographical  sketch  prefixed 
to  the  Ballads  of  the  Sunlit  Years  we  learn  that  the  author, 
James  Lindsay  Gordon,  passed  away  at  his  home  in  New  York 
while  his  poems  were  going  through  the  press  (1904).  Educa- 
ted at  "William  and  Mary  College  and  the  University  of  Vir- 
ginia, he  entered  the  profession  of  law,  practiced  for  a  time  at 
Charlottesville,  served  three  years  in  the  State  Senate,  and  in 
1893  removed  to  New  York,  where  he  became  Assistant  District 
Attorney.  He  was  recognized  as  an  eloquent  speaker,  and  was 
repeatedly  called  on  for  political  and  literary  addresses. 

But  his  opulent  intellectual  gifts  were  not  confined  to  legal 
and  political  interests.  His  thoughts  and  emotions,  particularly 
in  his  later  years,  found  utterance  in  metrical  form,  which  he 
handled  with  firm  mastery.  The  result  was  at  last  the  little 
volume  of  Ballads  of  the  Sunlit  Years.  If  here  and  there  in 
this  collection  of  more  than  forty  lyrics  we  sometimes  meet  with 
a  poem  that  seems  the  achievement  of  a  tour  de  force,  there  are 
many  that  cannot  be  mistaken  as  the  genuine  reflection  of  his 
own  experience.  In  his  life  the  shadows  appear  to  have  come 
early;  and  hence,  at  a  period  when  men's  thoughts  are  usually 
directed  to  the  future,  he  began  to  live  in  the  past,  which  had 
assumed  the  glory  of  "  the  sunlit  years." 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD 


In  the  tumult  of  the  great  city,  the  poet's  thoughts  frequently 
turned,  as  was  natural,  to  the  rural  beauty  of  his  native  state. 
In  Longing,  for  example,  we  read : — 

"  I  remember  a  forest  far  away 

Whose  aisles  are  cool  and  dim; 
And  there  His  voice  has  spoken  to  me, 

And  my  soul  has  answered  Him; 
In  the  scent  of  flowers,  in  the  song  of  birds, 

In  the  whispering  south  wind's  breath, 
He  has  spoken  to  me  of  life's  mystery, 

And  the  secrets  of  birth  and  death. 

"  But  the  voice  that  reaches  the  spirit's  ear 

Through  the  winds  and  flowers  of  the  fields 
Is  lost  in  this  endless  rush  of  men, 

This  ceaseless  clamor  of  wheels: 
And  the   soul  grows  sick  with  doubts  and  fears, 

And  the  heart  grows  numb  with  pain, 
As  we  wonder  if  ever  the  olden  faith 

Can  lighten  our  lives  again." 

Occasionally  we  find  passing  events — Wheeler  at  Santiago, 
Suspense,  and  Gaudium  Certaminis — celebrated  in  his  verse,  and 
always  with  a  sweep  of  thought  and  feeling  that  make  the  poems 
impressive.  In  the  last  named  poem,  Japan,  as  she  rushes  to 
meet  the  Muscovite,  is  made  to  say  exultantly : — 

"The  time  has  come.    We  are  going  into  the  battle: 

Hark  to  the  caissons   rumbling  through  the   dawn, 
And  far  on  the  Corean  hills  the  muskets  rattle, 

And  the  sound  of  the  feet  of  the  horses  rushing  on; 
It  has  come  at  last — the  time  for  which  we  waited 

That  shall  make  amends  for  all  the  protesting  years, 
And  the  hunger  of  hate  and  the  fury  of  fight  be  sated 
In  a  tempest  of  fire  and  tears." 

Out  of  the  poet's  personal  experience  seem  to  have  arisen  the 


304  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

fine  poems  Departed,  A  Ballad  of  Meeting,  Over  An  Old  Love 
Letter,  and  Lorraine.  The  latter  poem,  if  it  be  not  a  transcript 
of  a  real  romance,  is  at  least  written  with  a  striking  semblance 
to  truth.  In  spite  of  its  length  it  is  given  in  full : — 

'.'  Bonny  Lorraine,  have  you  forgot 

The  time  we  walked  o'er  the  morning  lea? 
I  still  keep  the  blue  forget-me-not 

That  you  took  from  your  hair  and  gave  to  me. 
Would  you  like  to  walk  those  ways  again 

With  me  at  your  side  in  the  morning  time? 

Do  you  ever  think  of  your  youth's  sweet  prime, 
And  your  young  boy  lover,  Bonny  Lorraine? 

"  Ah,  well  I  remember  the  time  we  stood 

By  the  glancing  river  when  day  was  done, 
And  the  whispering  trees  in  the  dim  old  wood 

Turned  crimson   and  gold   in   the   setting   sun: 
When  your  heart  and  your  lips  and  your  arms  were  fain 

To  cling  to  me  there  as  your  life's  one  love — 

While  the  stars  came  out  in  the  skies  above, — 
Do  you  remember  it,  Bonny  Lorraine? 

"  Surely  your  heart  could  not  forget 

The  night  when  I  bade  you  a  last  farewell; 

Your  long,  dark  lashes  with  tears  were  wet, 

And  your  anguish  more  than  your  lips  could  tell; 

How  you  kissed  me  there  as  I  stood  in  the  rain, 
And  held  me  fast  while  you  bade  me  go, — 
With  your  desolate,  golden  head  bowed  low; 

I  know  you  remember,  Bonny  Lorraine. 

"Across  the  street  where  the  music  swells 

You  glide  through  the  throng  in  the  shadowy  dance. 
In  your  ears  the  sound  of  your  marriage  bells — 

In  your  heart  the  dream  of  the  old  romance; 
I  see  you  glimmer  across  the  pane — 

The  jewels  ablaze  in  your  shining  hair, — 

And  the  form  of  another  beside  you  there, 
But  I  do  not  envy  him  now,  Lorraine. 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  305 

"  Let  him  bow  down  low  at  your  royal  feet, — 

Let  him  sing  love's  song  if  it  brings  him  joy; 

I  sang  it  once  and  I  found  it  sweet 

In  the  days  when  you  charmed  me — a  foolish  boy; 

But  I  never  shall  waken  the  old  refrain, 
Its  beautiful  music  is  almost  hushed: 
My  heart  was  bruised,  but  it  was  not  crushed, 

And  it  loves  you  no  longer,  Bonny  Lorraine. 

"Dance  on   while  the  music  throbs   and  beats: 

Drink  memory  to  death  in  your  wedding  wine; 
He  knows  not  your  life  whose  quick  glance  meets 

The   false,   sweet   light   in   your   eyes   divine. 
I  can  look  on  you  now  with  no  more  pain, — 

On  your  fair  proud  face,   in  your  splendid  eyes, — 

Then  looking  up  to  yon  starlit  skies 
Thank  God  that  I  lost  you,  Bonny  Lorraine." 

Miss  Sheffey. — It  was  Shelley  who  said  that  we  "learn  in 
suffering  what  we  teach  in  song."  It  is  certain  that  a  consider- 
able part  of  our  poetry  is  the  fruitage  of  sorrow.  The  Spirit- 
Mother  and  Other  Poems,  by  Miss  Miriam  Sheffey,  of  Marion, 
Va.,  is  due  chiefly  to  the  desolation  of  bereavement.  The  title 
poem  is  a  tender  tribute  to  a  "  beautiful  mother  who  filled  the 
poet's  life  with  love  and  joy."  It  is  filled  with  a  delicate 
spiritualism,  which  has  often  brought  peace  to  a  troubled 
heart : — 

"  I  Kear  the  sound  of  her  soft  old  shoes 

As  she  toils  up  the  shadowy  stair. 
I  hear  her  open  my  chamber  door, — 
Yet  I  know  she  is  not  there. 

"  I  see  the  tears  in  her  gentle  eyes, 

The  shine  of  her  beautiful  hair, 
The  pitying  love  in  her  sweet  old  face,— 
Yet  I  know  she  is  not  there. 

P.  of  Va.— 20 


306  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

"  I  see  the  folds  of  her  worn  black  gown 

As  she  sits  in  the  rocking-chair, 
And  lovingly,  tenderly  bends  o'er  my  bed, — 
Yet  I  know  she  is  not  there." 

These  few  stanzas  may  be  taken  as  illustrative  of  Miss 
Sheffey's  poetic  gifts  and  art.  There  is  an  ear  for  melody  and 
a  delicacy  of  touch  that  raise  her  verse  to  the  level  of  genuine 
literature.  She  begins  with  a  poetic  thought  or  sentiment,  and 
then  shapes  it  into  fitting  form,  so  that  each  piece  is  held  to- 
gether by  an  artistic  and  satisfying  unity.  She  is  not  a  mere 
mechanical  artificer  in  verse,  but  a  poet  or  maker  in  the  true 
sense  of  that  word. 

The  little  volume  before  us,  pleasing  in  its  silvered  letters, 
contains  less  than  a  dozen  poems.  The  poet  does  not  range  over 
a  large  territory.  All  the  poems  appeared  originally  in  various 
religious  periodicals.  The  first  four  pieces  all  relate  to  the 
author's  bereavement,  and  breathe  at  the  same  time  a  triumph- 
ant religious  faith  and  a  delicate  sense  of  the  spirit  world  about 
us.  But  they  are  not  to  be  associated  in  thought  with  our 
average  obituary  verse;  for,  as  already  indicated,  they  are  the 
productions  of  a  real  poetic  gift  and  literary  culture. 

Miss  Sheffey  has  made  an  effective  use  of  symbolism  in  The 
Old  Church  Organ.  The  old  organ  has  been  removed  to  the 
lumber  room  of  the  church  basement  to  make  place  for  a  hand- 
somer and  more  powerful  instrument.  The  poet  has  given  voice 
to  the  pathetic  sentiments  of  the  aged  and  cast-off  organ,  whose 
long  and  faithful  service  is  forgotten  in  the  exultation  over  the 
newcomer : — 

"  Yet  yesterday  I  was  forsaken! 

And  never  a  tear  was  shed! 
Never  a  soothing  word  they  spoke 
To  comfort  the  poor  old  heart  they  broke! 
I  heard  no  sympathetic  sigh, 
No  whispered  grief,  no  soft  goodbye! 

Never  a  word  they  said! 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  307 


•'  I  am  out  of  sight  and  all  hearing; 

Another  has  taken  my  place. 
Another  will  join  with  the  worshipping  throng 
In  jubilant  chorus,  in  sweet  solemn  song. 
Another  of  workmanship  noble  and  fine 
With  voice  far  more  mighty  and  mellow  than  mine 

Will  tell  of  God's  wonderful  grace." 

It  is  the  sadness  of  old  age  rudely  thrust  aside  and  forgotten 
in  the  fierce  and  irreverent  competitions  of  the  present  day. 

In  Partridges  in  November,  we  find,  along  with  some  graphic 
descriptions  of  nature,  the  poet's  sympathy  with  the  poor  birds 
that  are  unfeelingly  destroyed  to  make  a  day's  sport: — 

"  Stealthily  over  field  and  bog 
The  enemy  comes  with  gun  and  dog! 
And  O,  such  a  roar,  such  a  tumult  is  heard 
That  even  the  grand  old  trees  are  stirred! 
And  the  little  brown  creatures  so  timid,  so  shy, 
They  tremble  and  scream,  they  flutter  and  fly. 
In  the  forest  confusion  and  panic  reign. 
Where  was  peace  now  is  war  with  its  harm  and  pain. 
Let  pitying  tears  be  solemnly  shed! 
Let  a  dirge  be  sung  and  a  prayer  be  said! 
The  little  brown  creatures  are  dead,  dead,  dead!  " 


Samuel  H.  Newberry. — Eagle  Oak  and  Other  Poems,  by  Sam- 
uel H.  Newberry,  of  Bland,  Virginia,  is  a  volume  of  more  than 
four  hundred  pages.  It  possesses  a  special  interest  apart  from 
the  technical  quality  of  the  verse,  which,  it  must  be  said,  is 
hardly  up  to  the  level  of  the  finest  lyrical  standards.  In  hia 
rugged  strength  and  straightforwardness,  perhaps  the  author 
would  have  rejected  or  despised  the  Horatian  maxim  which  in- 
sists on  chastising  ten  times  to  perfect  accuracy  each  lyrical 
effort.  Intent  alone  on  the  idea  to  be  expressed,  and  unfettered 


308  POETS   OF  VIRGINIA 

by  a  fastidious  sense  of  literary  art,  he  has  shown  himself  in- 
dependent of  all  overwrought  refinements  of  poetic  form. 

But  this  considerable  body  of  verse  is  notable  as  the  first  large 
volume  coming  from  southwestern  Virginia.  In  its  spirit  and 
themes  it  is  true  to  the  region  from  which  it  sprang.  Mr.  New- 
berry  might  well  be  regarded  as  a  typical  son  of  "the  great 
Southwest,"  appreciating  its  natural  advantages  and  beauties, 
and  cherishing  its  fearless  independence  of  spirit.  Here  for 
the  first  time  do  we  find  the  grandeur  of  Burks  Garden,  the 
beauty  of  Mountain  Lake,  and  the  sublimity  of  Bald  Knob  and 
AngePs  Rest  formally  celebrated.  Indeed,  the  title  poem,  Eagle 
Oak,  is  largely  a  glorification  of  the  streams  and  mountains  of 
the  southwestern  part  of  the  State.  Here  is  a  typical  passage : — 

"  Old  Bald  Knob,  with  naked  crown, 
A  god  of  wrath,  is  looking  down, 
With  knitted  brow  and  vengeful  ire, 
With  smoking  lips  and  tongue  of  fire: 
He   holds   the   sleeping   earthquake   down, 
That  shakes  the  hills  for  miles  around; 
And  looks  the  Titans  in  the  face, 
Who  dare  not  hurl  him  from  his  place; 
Enthroned  upon  a  base  of  rocks, 
Defying  all  the  seismic  shocks." 

The  poet  has  an  eye  for  the  grander  aspects  of  nature — its 
huge  forms  in  mountains,  ocean,  and  sky.  He  would  hardly 
bend  with  Chaucer's  tenderness  over  a  daisy  in  the  morning 
dawn  until  it  had  opened  its  petals  to  the  sun. 

The  chief  interest  of  the  volume  in  hand  is  found,  perhaps,  in 
its  revelation  of  personality.  The  poems  cover  a  long  period  of 
the  author's  life,  and  are  in  large  measure  autobiographic,  re- 
flecting not  only  outward  incident  but  more  especially  his 
thought  on  current  events.  The  poems,  as  is  stated  in  the  pre- 
face, "cover  a  period  of  nearly  fifty  years  of  the  author's  life, 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  309 

and  but  very  few  of  them  have  ever  seen  the  light  of  publicity. 
They  have  been  written  at  odd  hours,  wherever  the  author 
chanced  to  be,  by  the  fireside,  on  the  farm,  in  the  saddle,  on  the 
train,  in  the  bivouac,  in  the  sleepless  hours  of  night ;  or  wherever 
the  call  of  the  Muse  wooed  him,  she  always  found  a  listening 
ear." 

Though  a  farmer,  the  author's  thought  has  not  been  confined 
wholly  to  sowing  and  reaping,  and  the  raising  of  ponderous 
cattle.  He  has  kept  in  touch  with  the  intellectual  movements 
of  the  age;  he  has  taken  an  active  part  in  the  politics  of  the 
State  and  occupied  a  seat  in  its  legislative  halls;  and  above  all, 
he  has  kept  his  soul  open,  amidst  the  tumults  about  him,  to  the 
sweet  influences  of  the  silent  realm  of  spirit  and  beauty.  Thus 
we  read  in  Ideal,  written  in  1889  : — 

"  I  wandered  away  in  my  dreaming — - 

It  mattered  but  little  to  me 
The  way  that  my  feet  were  wending, 

So  long  as  my  spirit  was  free. 
So  weary  was  I  of  earth's  travel, 

I  journeyed  away  to  a  clime 
To  find  for  my  soul — some  Eden — 

Not  found  in  the  desert  of  time. 

"  Some  rest  for  a  heart  that  was  weary; 

Some  place  for  the  spirit's  prayer, 
Where  the  soul  was  bowed  in  its  sorrow 

And  fighting  to  conquer  despair. 
Till  the  sky  of  my  hope  would  brighten, 

And  the  night  of  its  gloom  give  way; 
As  darkness  gives  way  in  the  morning 

To  welcome  the  opening  of  day." 

Throughout  the  volume  we  meet  with  a  spirit  of  sterling 
honesty,  truth,  and  duty.  The  poet  despises  a  hypocrite;  he 
denounces  the  tricks  of  self-seeking  politicians ;  he  casts  a  doubt 
on  the  disinterested  character  of  some  of  our  legislation. 


310  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

Especially  does  he  entertain  wrathful  sentiments  against  a  cor- 
rupt plutocracy  which  is  wronging  and  oppressing  the  people, 
and  using  party  names  to  further  their  dastardly  schemes. 
One  of  the  most  vigorous  lyrics  in  the  book,  coming  straight 
from  the  heart  of  the  poet,  is  a  call  to  The  Tillers  of  the  Soil, 
written  in  1891:— 

"  Ye  tillers,  and  ye  toilers, 

Who  make  the  nation's  bread, 
You  bear  its  heavy  burdens, 

And  on  the  crumbs  are  fed; 
You  feed  the  idle  millions 

Who  sun  themselves  in  ease, 
And  rob  you  at  their  leisure, 

And  tax  you  as  they  please. 

"  And,  as  the  patient  donkey, 

You've  borne  the  burden  long, 
Till  virtue's  made  you  patient, 

And  patience's  made  you  strong. 
Assert  your  rights  as  freemen; 

Dethrone  the  tyrant  gold, 
And  tell  the  labor  robbers 

Your  birthright  is  unsold." 

In  one  particular  the  book  makes  a  less  favorable  impression. 
Though  bravely  and  honestly  seeking  the  truth,  the  poet  has 
fallen  under  the  spell  of  a  sceptical  and  materialistic  philoso- 
phy— perhaps  that  of  Herbert  Spencer — and  has  given  up  his 
faith  in  a  personal  immortality.  He  has  gone  through  severe 
mental  conflicts  in  pondering  the  matter,  and  it  comes  to  the 
surface  in  more  than  one  of  his  poems.  In  Destiny  Ends  in  the 
Grave,  we  read : — 

"  When  night  shuts  down  on  his  dreaming, 

And  the  stars  are  lost  to  his  view, 
And  thought  has  folded  its  pinions, 
And  memory  has  nothing  to  do; 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  311 

The  flowers  will  bloom  in  their  season, 
And  harvests  will  ripen  their  grain; 

The  sleeping  will  never  awaken 
As  long  as  eternities  reign." 

This  sorrowful  view  seems  to  have  come  to  him  late  in  life; 
let  us  hope  that  he  may  have  strength  to  escape  from  the  toils 
of  a  philosophy,  which  has  already  lost  much  of  its  influence 
among  the  ablest  thinkers  of  the  world.  The  great  argument  of 
Tennyson — the  divinely  implanted  conviction  of  the  race-— still 
stands : — 

"  Thou  wilt  not  leave  us  in  the  dust: 

Thou  madest  man,  he  knows  not  why; 
He  thinks  he  was  not  made  to  die; 
And  thou  hast  made  him:   thou  art  just." 

Mrs.  Flora  I.  Mack. — The  poem  Old  Jamestown,  by  Mrs. 
Flora  Lapham  Mack,  of  Danville,  owes  its  origin  to  the  present 
interest  of  Virginians  in  the  early  colonial  history  of  the  State. 
The  romance,  heroism  and  seed-time  significance  of  those  far-off 
days  are  felt  as  never  before.  Mrs.  Mack  in  rapid  ballad  measure 
has  summoned  many  forms  and  faces  from  the  past;  and  Poca- 
hontas,  Captain  Smith,  the  maidens  sent  over  by  Lord  Sandys 
to  be  wives  of  the  lonely  colonists,  Lord  Delaware  in  all  the  pomp 
of  pride  and  station,  and  Lord  Berkeley  with  "  his  sweet  Virginia 
wife/'  Lady  Frances,  successively  appear  in  the  verisimilitude  of 
life. 

The  mellifluous  measure  is  well  illustrated  in  the  opening 
stanzas  of  the  poem: — 

"  By  the  low,  wave-beaten  island 

Swiftly  flows  the  yellow  stream, 
And  the  lapping  of  the  water 
Lulls  me  as  I  idly  dream. 

"Up  and  down  the  widening  river, 

White  sails  pass  with  lazy  grace; 
Wildly    scream    the    flitting    sea-fowl, 
Desolation  stamps  the  place. 


312  POETS   OF  VIRGINIA 


"  Gazing  on  the  high-arched  portal 

Of  that  old,  historic  tower, 
Forms  and  faces  pass  before  me, 

Lured  by  memory's  magic  power." 

As  we  close  the  entertaining  booklet,  we  can  hardly  help  wish- 
ing that  the  poet  had  sat  longer  at  the  feet  of  Tennyson,  and 
then,  with  something  of  his  laborious  skill,  had  continued  her 
metrical  sketches  of  early  colonial  life.  With  her  lyrical  gifts, 
it  was  in  her  power  to  have  given  us  a  more  comprehensive  and 
finished  picture. 

Charles  W.  Bowers. — The  Newspaper  Waste  Basket  and  other 
Poems  by  Charles  William  Bowers,  of  Highland  Springs,  is  a 
small  volume  quite  unique  in  form.  It  is  the  work  of  a  practical 
printer,  who  not  only  composed  the  poems,  but  "personally 
bought  the  paper,  cut  it,  set  the  type,  printed,  and  bound  the 
volume."  The  book  is  bound  in  a  form  to  resemble  a  newspaper 
file,  and  the  fly-leaves  are  scraps  of  printed  sheets.  The  author 
was  for  a  time  connected  with  the  daily  press  of  Eichmond, 
which  has  been  very  generous  in  the  notice  taken  of  his  poetic 
efforts. 

The  little  book  in  question  contains  nearly  thirty  brief  poems, 
the  chief  of  which  is  the  title  piece  Newspaper  Waste  Basket. 
This  poem  records  the  reflections  and  memories  that  come  to 
the  author  as  he  delves — 

"  Down  into  my  old  waste  basket 
By  the  desk  in  corner  dark." 

Nearly  all  the  poems  exhibit  a  serious  thoughtf ulness ;  there 
is  a  clear  recognition  of  the  tragic  and  sorrowful  side  of  life. 
There  is  something  to  be  desired  in  the  way  of  poetic  technique, 
and  it  requires  an  effort  to  make  arbiter  rhyme  with  writer. 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  313 

The  sea  in  its  manifold  aspects  seems  to  have  appealed  strongly 
to  the  poet's  imagination.  Four  of  the  poems  relate  to  the  sea ; 
and  Where  Waves  Break,  one  of  the  best  in  the  booklet,  must 
serve  as  a  specimen  of  our  author's  poetic  art : — 

"  Hark!  the  roar 
From  the  shore, 

Breaking  through  the  tranquil  night, 
As,  with  suicidal  might, 
Waves  dash  'gainst  the  silent  rock, 
Which  withstands  the  watery  shock, 
Seeming  in  the  gloom  to  mock 
E'en  the  sea." 

A  Plea  for  Executive  Clemency  shows  a  sympathetic  nature; 
The  Music  of  the  Kettle  reveals  delicate  poetic  feeling;  Little 
Bill's  Christmas  embodies  a  bit  of  pathos ;  and  Only  a  Reporter 
records  an  instance  of  self-forgetting  heroism. 

Mrs.  Grarber. — Mrs.  Virginia  Armistead  Garber,  in  her  Poca- 
hontas,  once  more  takes  up  the  beautiful  story  connected  with 
our  early  colonial  history.  The  book;  is  embellished  with  a  num- 
ber of  rubricated  illustrations  prepared  by  the  author,  and  also 
with  a  reproduction  of  the  only  authentic  portrait  of  the  Indian 
heroine.  The  poem  recounts  the  life  of  Pocahontas  from  her 
childhood  in  the  princely  home  of  Powhatan,  where  she  had — 

"  A  state,  and  care,  and  loving, 
That  exceeded  all  the  others  " — : 

to  her  death  in  England,  as  she  was  about  to  embark  for  her 
native  land. 

"  In  the  church,  beneath  the  chancel, 

There  in  Gravesend  sleeps  Matoax, 

Proudly  owned  by  honored  lineage; 

In  Virginia  still  '  Our  Princess '.  " 


314  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 


The  facts  embodied  in  the  poem  are  drawn  from  Captain 
John  Smith's  history,  and  other  original  sources.  The  story 
is  told  in  trochaic  tetrameter,  which  somehow  seems  peculiarly 
fitted  for  Indian  life  and  legend.  Though  the  meter  is  not  in- 
fallibly correct,  it  is  upon  the  whole  handled  skilfully  and 
pleasantly;  and  though  the  poem  is  not  cast  in  a  large  epic 
mold,  it  is  rounded  out  in  symmetrical  completeness.  The  in- 
cidents are  put  into  the  mouth  of — 

"  Omawada,  Indian  handmaid 
Of  the  Princess  Pocahontas." 

The  friendly  attitude  of  Matoax  or  the  "  Princess  of  the  White 
Feather/'  is  explained  in  the  poem  by  a  resplendent  vision,  in 
which  she  saw  the  giant-winged  and  thunder-laden  ships  of 
the  colonists: — 

"  Then  the  white-robed  one  spake  to  her 
Whispered  soft  like  breeze  of  evening, 
That  the  God  who  made  the  heavens, 
And  the  earth  and  all  things  therein, 
Wished  her  to  befriend  the  white  man, 
She,  the  little  Indian  maiden, 
She,  the  guardian  of  the  white  man 
Who  was  coming  o'er  the  ocean." 

The  rescue  of  Captain  Smith,  which  has  sometimes  been  dwelt 
upon  with  elaborate  detail,  is  described  in  a  few  lines,  which 
bring  the  well-known  scen^  graphically  before  us: — 

"  All  the  Indians  danced  about  him, 
Wild  with  shoutings,  wild  with  leapings. 
When  they  circled  close  about  him 
With  their  clubs  aloft  to  strike  him, 
Pocahontas  with  swift  motion 
Sped  to  him,  his  head  encircling 
With  her  arms — and  thus  she  saved  him." 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  315 

After  the  long  and  successful  wooing  of  Kolf  e,  the  happy  pair 
proceed  to  the  church  in  Jamestown,  where  in  the  presence  of 
the  governor  they  are  married: — 

"  When  she  stepped  within  the  doorway, 
Through  the  fair  wide-open  windows 
Came  the   soft  breeze,  and  the  sunshine 
All  the  air  was  sweet  with  odours, 
All  the  house  was  fair  with  flowers, 
They  had  gathered  from  the  forest, 
From  the  hedges,  and  the  thickets." 

But  nowhere  else  does  the  Indian  princess  appear  more  lovely 
than  in  the  presence  of  the  royal  court  of  England:— 

"  When  the  mighty  King  of  England, 
And  his  wife,  the  good  Queen  Anne, 
Sought  to  give  unto  the  Princess 
Of  Virginia  royal  welcome, 
She  with  dignity  and  calmness, 
With  a  modest  sweet  demeanor, 
Passed  through  all  that  dazzling  splendor, 
Through  the  lines  of  knightly  courtiers, 
Through  the  crowds  of  stately  ladies, 
Who,  with  eager  eyes  and  manner, 
Scanned  her  looks,  her  words,  her  actions. 
Much  they  marvelled  that  a  savage 
Wild,  untutored  Indian  woman 
Could  demean  herself  so  queenly." 

It  is  eminently  fitting  that  while  the  thoughts  of  Virginians 
are  turning  back  to  the  settlement  at  Jamestown  three  centuries 
ago,  the  image  of  the  wonderful  Indian  maiden  should  be 
brought  before  us.  Mrs.  Garber's  conception  and  portrayal  of 
her  character  presents  her  in  a  sweet,  human,  womanly  light. 


CHAPTER  XX; 

Poets  of  West  Virginia 

West  Virginia  is  a  progressive  young  state.  In  recent  years 
it  has  advanced  its  material  and  educational  interests  in  a  marked 
degree.  With  progress  in  other  departments,  poetry  has  not 
been  entirely  neglected.  The  literary  traditions  of  the  Old 
Dominion  have  been  perpetuated ;  and,  as  we  shall  presently  see, 
the  daughter  has  produced  singers  that  would  have  reflected 
credit  upon  the  mother. 

C.  Kussell  Christian. — The  Mountain  Bard,  by  C.  Eussell 
Christian,  is  a  considerable  volume  of  original  verse  published 
in  Huntingdon,  W.  Va.,  in  1885.  It  is  divided  into  nine  parts, 
and  embraces  a  wide  range  of  themes.  Had  the  author  been  able 
to  fill  up  his  large  scheme  with  a  corresponding  poetic  charm, 
he  would  have  made  an  important  contribution  to  the  literature 
of  West  Virginia. 

He  took  his  vocation  with  sufficient  seriousness,  and  no  doubt 
felt  a  conscious  and  pardonable  pride  in  being  for  some  years 
the  only  representative  of  the  Muses  in  a  songless  land.  It  was 
his  noble  purpose,  as  stated  in  the  dedication,  "  to  sow  the  seeds 
of  literature  in  this  hitherto  barren  land."  A  single  brief  quota- 
tion— a  quatrain  on  War  and  Peace — is  given  by  way  of  illustra- 
tion; ex  uno  disce  omnia: — 

"  Peace  is  a  fabric  built  with  labor  great, 
The  true  foundation  of  both  Church  and  State; 
War  is  a  monster  that  with  gory  hands 
Hews  down  the  fabric  and  o'erwhelms  the  lands." 

As  for  the  rest,  the  author  is  taken  at  his  word :  "  he  hopes  that 

[3161 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  317 

criticism  will  for  once  consider  the  size  of  the  victim  and  for- 
bear to  strike."  For  all  well-meant  effort,  however  imperfect 
or  unsuccessful,  there  should  be  a  feeling  of  kindness. 

Hu  Maxwell. — In  turning  to  Hu  Maxwell  we  find  a  poet  of 
a  different  caliber.  His  Idyls  of  the  Golden  Shore,  published 
in  New  York,  in  1889,  is  a  volume  of  singular  power.  The 
poems  are  associated  with  scenes  and  incidents  of  the  Pacific 
Coast.  In  the  lengthy  poetical  preface,  we  read: — 

"  I've  wandered  far  into  the  wildest  West; 

And  that  far  wildest  West  has  swept  my  soul, 
And  set  it  quivering  in  a  deep  unrest, 

Beyond  my  bidding  and  beyond  control. 
I've  watched  the  ocean's  waters  rise  and  roll 

Against  the  rocks  that  cliffed  from  mountain  high; 
I've  heard  the  murmurs  rush  on  reef  and  shoal, 
Complaining  all  the  night  with  moan  and  sigh, 
And  in  the  morning  hour  grow  faint,  and  cease,  and  die." 

Mr.  Maxwell's  songs  are  among  the  largest  and  strongest  that 
the  grandeur  of  western  scenery  and  the  daring  of  western  life 
have  inspired. 

The  Bandit's  Bride  is  a  romance  strongly  told,  reflecting  some 
of  the  strange  and  puzzling  contradictions  of  woman's  character. 
The  maid  of  San  Jose  bestows  her  heart  upon  the  bandit,  and 
the  poet  is  led  to  exclaim : — 

"  O  the  shallow  heart  of  woman,  changing  as  the  shadows  change! 
Turning  from  the  true  and  noble,  leaning  toward  the  wild  and 

strange ; 

Looking  ever  to  a  level  lower  than  her  native  sphere; 
Giddy-headed,    undecided.    Where   romances   most    appear, 
There  you  find  her,  there  you  meet  her;  there  you  evermore  will 

find, 
She  will  follow  handsome   phantoms  and   will   leave  the  world 

behind. 

She  will  turn  to  what  is  newest,  and  her  destiny  will  cast 
At  the  feet  of  whom  she  knows  not.    To  be  best  is  to  be  last." 


318  POETS   OF  VIRGINIA 

Nacimiento  is  a  tale  of  priestly  villainy  and  its  punishment. 
Its  passionate  stanzas,  which  here  and  there  repeat  a  cadence  of 
Byron,  are  full  of  poetic  beauty  and  truth : — 

"  One  word  of  silent  prayer  in  earnest  trust 

Is  worth  eternity  of  soulless  form, 
And  words  without  devotion.     From  the  dust 

A  soul  can  be  uplifted  to  the  warm 
And  peaceful  light  of  truth.    We  cannot  thrust 

Ourselves  to  heaven,  nor  stop  the  raging  storm. 
Another  Hand  must  guide  us,  and  will  guide. 
A  rest  will  come  at  last,  though  storms  betide. 
*  *  *  * 

"  Hell  lavishes  its  mercies  like  its  fire 

To  those  who  ask  them.    Prayer  is  ne'er  in  vain 

When  made  for  ruin  and  for  mad  desire. 

The  answer  cometh  soon  with  balm  of  bane; 

And  in  the  nearer  rush  of  din  and  dire, 

The  herald  bursts  with  shriek  and  yell  amain 

Upon  the  vision  of  one  whose  prayer 

Hath  called  the  spectres  up  from  dark  despair." 

Through  the  warp  and  woof  of  grand  description  and  thrill- 
ing incident  in  the  Idyls  runs  the  golden  thread  of  a  tender, 
personal  romance.  Whether  real  or  fanciful  makes  but  little 
difference;  its  charm,  like  the  sweet  sadness  of  a  haunting 
memory,  appears  again  and  again. 

"  In  the  far-off  summer  land  of  light 

Where  the  winds  are  soft  and  fair, 
Where  the  dewdrops  cluster  in  lilies  white, 
With  a  peaceful  rest  in  the  silent  night, 

Is  the  home  of  Mabel  Saint  Clair. 

"  'Tis  a  summer  shore  and  a  crystal  strand, 

And  the  whispering  river  flows, 
And  the  waves  are  washing  the  silver  sand, 
And  the  orange  groves  afar  expand, 
Like  the   dreams  that  are  dreamed   in  fairyland, 

And  only  the  dreamer  knows." 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  319 

Col.  Dudley  IL  Davis. — Songs  of  the  Age,  by  Col.  Dudley 
H.  Davis,  is  an  illustrated  volume  which  appeared  in  Baltimore 
in  1891.  It  opens  with  a  regular  ante-bellum  preface:  it  is 
submitted  to  the  public  only  with  "the  greatest  diffidence  and 
through  the  earnest  solicitation  of  friends."  The  author  recog- 
nizes that  "a  classic  education  is  a  prerequisite  to  the  writing 
of  poetry  that  will  interest  the  literary  world,"  yet  confesses 
that  he  is  without  that  prerequisite,  "  having  been  bred  a  farmer, 
and  spent  thirty-two  of  his  best  years  in  mercantile  transactions." 

The  editor  of  the  Baltimore  Herald,  in  a  complimentary  letter 
which  we  trust  cost  him  no  twinges  of  conscience,  shows  us  the 
strong,  healthful,  heroic  life  of  the  author.  "When  you  wrote 
me  word  you  had  cut  sixty  tons  of  hay,"  says  the  editor,  "  and 
had  gone  to  buy  cattle  to  which  to  feed  the  hay,  instead  of  baling 
it  and  sending  it  away  to  market,  to  thereby  impoverish  your 
land — then  it  was  I  thought  of  the  author  of  Home,  Sweet  Home, 
and  wondered  why  every  poet  could  not  hitch  Pegasus  to  the 
utility  chariot.  But  you  know  they  do  not;  therefore  I  have 
always  admired  the  exception  to  the  general  rule,  which  is 
happily  embodied  in  your  peculiar  character.  Your  poems  are 
good  salad  for  the  home  circle;  they  are  good  solid  sense,  and 
happy  metre  with  it.  "We  never  get  tired  of  hearing  the  song 
of  the  wild  birds.  There  is  none  of  the  piratical  cling-clang  in 
the  music  of  the  wild  woods." 

The  statements  made  in  the  last  two  sentences  are  very  true, 
but  of  very  remote  connection  with  our  author's  poetry.  There 
is  nothing  of  the  spontaneous,  wild-note  music  about  it.  It  is 
the  plainest  sort  of  salad,  unseasoned  by  any  of  the  spicy  condi- 
ments so  precious  to  an  Epicurean  literary  taste.  A  single  line 
will  sufficiently  illustrate  its  literary  quality;  the  War  Eagle 
begins : — 

"  When  Southern  war  guns  of  the  South." 


320  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

Alas  for  the  blindness  or  the  insincerity  of  friendship.  On 
the  introductory  pages  are  printed  numerous  complimentary 
notices,  which  pronounce  the  volume  "  full  of  rich  gems  of  origi- 
nal thought "  and  "  a  series  of  beautiful  productions,  chaste^ 
instructive,  attractive,  and  elevating."  And  the  Baltimore 
Herald  calls  "  the  little  book  a  gem.  It  will  live,  and  as  a  relic 
which  time  will  not  efface.  It  has  the  radiance  of  a  golden 
sunset,  whose  hallowed  glow  will  throw  its  beams  athwart  the 
shades  of  the  Valley,  and  then  glitter  anew  on  the  shore  eternal." 

Miss  Emma  Withers. — Wildwood  Chimes  is  a  volume  by  Miss 
Emma  Withers,  published  in  Cincinnati  in  1891.  It  possesses 
real  poetic  merit  both  in  sentiment  and  form.  The  spirit  of  the 
poetess  knows  the  rapture  that  comes  from  the  ethereal  realm 
of  poetry.  Her  feet  have  touched  high  Olympus.  In  Poesy 

she  says : — 

"  I  breathe  the  breath  of  gods.     I  lie 
On  golden  shores  of  Arcady; 

And  softly  life  forever  goes, 
The  world  forgotten  and  its  woes, 
While  I  with  all  the  gods  may  vie 
On  Helicon." 

In  her  verse  we  meet  with  a  sense  of  the  injustice  of  life. 
Though  there  are  many  crowned  heroes,  there  are  a  greater  num- 
ber of  the  uncrowned.  Often  the  bravest  and  truest  live  and  die 
unknown  and  unsung.  In  Uncrowned  the  poet  asks: — 

"  Ah!    Fame,  do  thy  laurel-wreathed   pages 

Know  aught  of  the  hallowed  place 
That  softens  the  rime  of  the  ages — 

Though  nameless  forever  its  grace — 
Where  worn  with  the  fever  of  living, 

Yet  true  unto  death  to  its  trust, 
And  spent  with  the  unreturned  giving 

A  woman's  heart  crumbled  to  dust?  " 


c 

I 


DANSKE   DANDR1DGE 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  321 

In  the  verse  of  Miss  Withers  there  is  a  tender  sympathy  with 
nature  that  opens  her  eyes  to  its  beauties  and  her  heart  to  its 
teachings.  In  its  quiet  retreats  she  finds  a  peace  unknown  among 
the  noisy  haunts  of  men.  Here  is  a  rondeau  on  Nature : — 

"  I  sought  within  men's  hollow  creeds 
A  healing  for  the  sorest  needs 

That  vexed  my  life.    They  mocked  my  quest; 
The  hidden  fires  within  ray  breast 

Burned  on.     I  sought  the  sylvan  meads, 
I  watched  the  night  of  winged  seeds, 
I  found  the  soul  in  meanest  weeds, 

I  saw  young  birds  from  out  the  nest 
On  swift  wings  soar. 

I  follow  Nature  where  she  leads, 

And  naught  to  me  are  men  and  deeds; 

For  in  the  pathway  she  hath  pressed 

I  find  the  benison  of  rest — 
And  safe  from  life's  tormenting  greeds, 
I  seek  no  more." 

At  the  King's  Gate  is  a  significant  Eastern  tale,  and  As  Mem- 
ory Tells  it  O'er  is  a  pleasing  bit  of  poetic  autobiography.  Wild- 
wood  Chimes,  as  a  whole,  is  inspired  by  nature,  and  is  as  poetic 
and  pleasing  as  its  name  would  indicate. 

M.  S.  Cornwell. — Wheat  and  Chaff  is  a  little  volume  made  up 
of  verses,  letters  and  extracts  from  the  writings  of  M.  S.  Corn- 
well.  It  was  published  at  Eomney,  W.  Ya.,  as  a  memorial  of 
the  author  by  his  two  surviving  brothers.  The  poems  it  contains 
are  well  worth  preserving;  and  as  we  read  them,  there  comes 
a  regret  that  the  poet's  premature  death  .renders  the  number 
so  small.  Had  he  lived  longer,  his  gifted,  generous  spirit  would 
doubtless  have  enriched  further  the  poetic  literature  of  his  State. 


322  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

Marshall  S.  Cornwell  was  a  native  of  Hampshire  County,  W. 
Va.  He  was  brought  up  on  a  farm  without  the  advantages  of 
a  liberal  education ;  but  his  insatiable  thirst  for  knowledge  made 
him  a  great  reader.  His  stores  of  information  were  copious, 
and  as  his  poems  clearly  indicate,  his  taste  acquired  a  scholarly 
refinement.  He  became  the  editor  of  a  country  newspaper,  first 
at  Petersburg,  W.  Va.,  and  afterwards  at  Elkins,  and  it  was  in 
the  columns  of  his  paper  that  many  of  his  verses  first  appeared. 

His  preference  was  for  the  country.  The  rush  and  tumult 
of  the  city  were  oppressive  to  him: — 

"  Where  Mammon's  mighty  temples 

Stand  beside  the  stony  ways, 
And  the  roar  of  business  echoes 
Through  all  the  gloomy  days." 

Especially  in  the  joyous  springtime,  as  he  tells  us  in  one  of 
his  dialect  poems: — 

"  There  ain't  no  city  -big  enough 

To  hold  me  now  at  all, 
Since  the  cherry  trees  are  bloomin', 
An*  I  hear  the  robin's  call. 

"  For  the  Master,  in  His  goodness, 

Made  the  country  fair  an'  free, 
The  birds  an'  flowers  an'  buddin'  trees 
Fer  lazy  chaps  like  me." 

As  the  poet's  health  became  impaired,  he  fled  to  Florida  and 
the  Eio  Grande  in  search  of  restoration.  At  times  his  thoughts 
naturally  turned  to  the  past,  and  in  Lessons  to  Learn  we  have  a 
glimpse  of  his  childhood  home  on  the  farm : — 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  323 

"  Oh,  the  dreams  we  dream  in  our  youthful  years; 
And  our  hopes,  that  end  in  bitter  tears, 
As  we  weave  the  web  and  the  mystical  plan, 
The  aim,  and  the  life,  and  the  doom  of  man. 
I'd  give  the  wisdom  the  world  has  taught, 
And  all  the  joys  the  years  have  brought, 
To  live  again,  in  the  self-same  way, 
The  days  when  father  used  to  say, 
'  You've  housed  the  stock,  and  given  'em  hay, 
An'  plenty  of  wood  piled  up  to  burn? 
Well,  don't  forget,  you've  lessons  to  learn '." 

The  poet's  disposition  was  bright  and  cheerful.  He  was  not 
a  disciple  of  the  strenuous  school;  on  the  contrary,  he  loved  to 
"loiter  by  the  way/'  and  drink  in  the  beauties  and  joys  with 
which  God  has  filled  the  world.  In  his  Song  of  the  Sea  it  is 
not  the  tumultuous  Northern  ocean  that  pleases  him  most: — 

"  Ah,  better  I  love  the  sea, 
The  magical,  tropical  sea, 

Where  the  sun  gleams  warm, 

In  the  track  of  the  storm, 
For  it  softly  sings  to  me. 

"  It  sings  of  love, 

And  the  blue  above 
Bends  down  to  the  blue  of  the  wave; 

Its  soothing  tone 

Is  a  song  of  home, 
By  shores  its  waters  lave." 

His  search  for  health  was  in  vain.  From  El  Paso  he  wrote 
to  his  brothers  that  he  "  had  given  up  the  battle  and  was  coming 
home  to  die."  His  sick  room  was  filled  with  the  light  of  a 
cheerful  spirit.  The  prayer  he  had  breathed  in  A  Dream  of  Rest 
was  granted: — 


324  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

"  And  I  prayed,  O  Father,  when  cometh  the  night, 

At  the  end  of  my  weary  day, 

May  I  wait,  as  calm  as  the  wood-crowned  height 
In  the  glow  of  the  sun's  last  ray. 

"  May  the  peace  that  falls  on  nature's  breast 

When  the  day  dies  out  of  the  sky, 
Fill  my  soul  at  last,  with  joy  and  rest, 
When  my  Jast  hour  draweth  nigh." 

Upon  the  fly-leaf  of  a  little  scrap-book  carried  by  the  author 
in  his  ramblings  through  the  pine  woods  of  Florida  were  found 
these  two  beautiful  stanzas,  which  give  his  own  estimate  of  his 
brief,  uneventful  life: — 

"  A  little  book  of  happy  dreams, 

The  product  of  an  idle  day — 
Stray  flashes  of  the  light  that  streams 
Across  my  lone  and  barren  way. 

"  I  would  not  change  my  humble  lot 

To  reign  a  king  through  countless  years, 
For  I,  though  unknown  and  forgot, 

Have  heard  the  music  of  the  spheres." 

Waitman  Barbe. — Waitman  Barbe,  a  native  of  Monongalia 
County,  W.  Va.,  is  a  man  of  versatile  talent.  He  has  labored  in 
the  fields  of  journalism,  education,  poetry,  and  fiction — and 
everywhere  with  ability  and  success.  His  one  volume  of  poetry, 
entitled  Ashes  and  Incense,  was  published  in  Philadelphia  in 
1898,  and  met  with  a  considerable  degree  of  critical  and  popular 
favor.  Professor  Barbe  has  the  gift  of  refined  musical  utterance. 
Though  he  is  not  often  very  profound,  he  has  an  eye  for  all  that 
is  beautiful  in  nature  and  art,  and  a  soul  alive  to  the  joys  and 
sufferings  of  life.  Through  his  clearness  and  melody  he  has  the 
power  of  lifting  the  lowliest  themes  above  the  commonplace. 

In  his  verse  nature  is  not  often  described  for  its  own  sake; 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  325 

its  forms  and  tones  .are  associated  in  some  way  with  human 
life  or  human  sentiment.  This  method  imparts  depth  and  fresh- 
ness to  his  study  of  the  phenomena  of  nature.  The  December 
wind,  for  example,  assumes  the  character  of  a  fell  destroyer: — 

"  Hear  how  the  wind  coinplaineth  all  day  long 

Because  naught  now  remains  for  him  to  kill: 
There  is  no  flower,  or  brook,  or  bird,  or  song 

Since  that  sad  night  when  he  came  down  the  hill. 
The  lean  and  shivering  grass, 
Awake  to  hear  him  pass, 

Pell  down  and  crept  away,  hut  could  not  hide, — 
The  whole  world's  wrath  hath  touched  the  north  hill-side." 

Like  all  true  poets,  our  author  laments  the  rush  and  clamor 
of  the  streets,  by  which  the  holiest  impulses  and  thoughts  are 
drowned.  There  are  better  things  than  the  gain  and  show  of 
the  bustling  world;  far  away  from  its  confusion  and  con- 
flicts may  be  discerned  the  infinite  music  of  the  eternal.  To  this 
realm,  in  his  poem  Eternal  Silence,  the  poet  turns: — 

"  But  through  my  open  window,  far  away 
Beyond  the  utmost  reach  of  traffic's  sway, 
Into  eternal  silences  I  gaze: 
Infinitude  of  peace  and  patience  stays 
Upon  those  heights,  that  man  may  know  the  will 
Of  Him  who  calmed  the  waves  with,  '  Peace,  be  still !  '  " 

Our  poet  has  been  a  great  admirer  of  Sidney  Lanier,  some  of 
whose  notes  he  has  caught,  and  to  whom  he  has  paid  a  beautiful 
tribute : — 

"The  seas  were  not  too  deep  for  thee;  thine  eye 
Was  comrade  with  the  farthest  star  on  high: 

The  marsh  burst  into  bloom  for  thee, — 

And  still  abloom  shall  ever  be! 
Its  sluggish  tide  shall  henceforth  bear  alway 
A  charin  it  did  not  hold  until  thy  day." 


326  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

The  little  poem  Finis,  which  fittingly  closes  the  volume,  re- 
veals to  us  the  manful  spirit  in  which  the  author  is  doing  his 
work : — 

"  I  ask  not 

When  shall  the  day  be  done,  and  rest  come  on? 
I  pray  not 

That  soon  from  me  the  '  curse  of  toil '  be  gone; 
I  seek  not 

A  sluggard's  couch  with  drowsy  curtain  drawn. 
But  give  me 

Time  to  fight  the  battle  out  as  best  I  may; 
And  give  me 

Strength  and  place  to  labor  still  at  evening's  gray; 
Then  let  me 

Sleep  as  one  who  toiled  afield  through  all  the  day." 

Mrs.  Dandridge. — Mrs.  Danske  Dandridge  was  born  in  Copen- 
hagen when  her  father,  the  Hon.  Henry  Bedinger,  was  minister 
to  Denmark.  In  1877  she  became  the  wife  of  Mr.  Stephen 
Dandridge,  and  has  since  resided  in  a  beautiful  country  home 
near  Shepherdstown,  W.  Va.  She  has  published  two  volumes 
of  poetry:  Rose  Brake  Poems  appeared  in  1890,  and  Joy  and 
Other  Poems  in  1900.  The  pleasing  portrait  in  the  latter  volume 
suggests  at  a  glance  the  prevailing  character  of  her  poems.  The 
finely  shaped  head  and  delicate,  womanly  features  can  be  as- 
sociated only  with  what  is  refined  in  thought  and  feeling.  We 
do  not  look  for — 

"The   strident    wail,    the    shrilling   discontent," 

but  for  the  music  of — 

"  The  budding  spring, 
With  all  her  birds  and  every  pleasant  thing." 

Joy  and  Oilier  Poems,  the  last  and  richest  vintage  of  Mrs. 


SECOND  NATIONAL  PERIOD  327 

Dandridge's  genius,  is  divided  into  four  parts :  1.  Poems  of  the 
imagination;  2.  Poems  of  nature;  3.  Poems  of  love  and  friend- 
ship; 4.  Miscellaneous  poems.  All  are  brief,  generally  not  ex- 
ceeding a  page ;  and  from  whatever  sphere  the  themes  are  taken} 
the  poems  exhibit  a  rare  and  delicate  artistic  form.  The  author- 
ess knows  and  reverences  art.  In  the  prayer  to  Silence,  for  ex- 
ample, thought  and  diction  are  exquisitely  blended: — 

"  Quell  thy  barbed  lightning  in  the  sombre  west; 

Quiet  thy  thunder-dogs  that  bay  the  moon; 
Soothe  the  day's  fretting,  like  a  tender  nurse; 

Breathe  on  our  spirits  till  they  be  in  tune: 
Were  it  not  best 

To  hush  all  noises  in  the  universe, 
And  bless  with  solemn  quietude,  that  thus 
The  still,  small  voice  of  God  might  speak  to  us?" 

The  title  piece  is  a  happy  fancy,  which  carries  with  it  a  deep, 
sad  burden  of  truth : — 

"  She  did  not  need  to  breathe  her  happy  name; 
I  felt  that  she  was  Joy,  whose  mate  is  Love, 
And  mother  Peace.    She  shook  her  loosened  hair, 
That  made  a  shining  circle  round  her  head. 
But  I — '  Dear  Joy!  ',  I  cried,  '  what  do  you  here, 

While  weary  men  and  women  curse  and  moan, 
And  pine  away,  and  sin,  and  hate,  and  jeer; 

What  do  you,  idling,  with  closed  wings,  alone? ' 

"Ah  me!  she  spoke,  and  sighed,  if  Joy  can  sigh: 
'  Scant  welcome  in  the  homes  of  men  have  I. 
It  is  a  time  of  doubting  and  unrest, 
And  Greed  doth  drive  me  forth  from  many  a  breast. 
Alas!  I  have  an  ancient  enemy, 
Whose  robes  are  tinsel,  and  her  face  a  lie; 
Men  call  her  Pleasure,  but  I  know  her  twin 
Is  Pain;  their  age,  Remorse;  their  shadow,  Sin '." 


328  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

The  little  poem  of  The  Roses  is  a  tender  twining  of  the  queen 
of  flowers  with  a  woman's  life.  The  maiden  fair  plucks  them  in 
childhood,  and  later  braids  them  when  love  has  awakened  in  her 
heart.  A  dark  red  rose  is  entwined  in  her  hair  when  by  the 
river  she  receives  her  lover's  raptured  kiss,  and — 

"  Her  life  Is  crowned  with  its  perfect  hour." 

And  then, — 

"White  and  silent  the  maiden  lies; 

"White  and  still  in  the  shaded  room; 
Closed  to  earth  are  her  curtained  eyes; 

Sweet  is  the  air  with  a  faint  perfume. 
White  are  the  roses  on  her  breast; 
White  is  the  soul  of  the  maid  at  rest: 
Drop  a  tear  on  her  loving  brow; 
Naught  of  earth  can  stain  her  now." 

Our  author's  conception  of  the  poet's  vocation  is  high  and 
true.  The  poet  should  not  be  the  weaver  of  idle  melodies,  but 
a  seer,  whose  mission  it  is  to  reveal  the  beauties  and  mysteries 
of  the  universe: — 

"  If  thou  art  a  poet-son  of  God, 

Fix  upon  the  heights  thy  steadfast  glance; 
Listen  with  quick  ear  to  catch  His  word; 
Speak,  as  He  shall  give  thee  utterance." 

There  is  fine  irony  in  the  little  poem  Fate : — 

"With  Sodom  apples  fill  thy  harvest  bin; 

Barter  heart's  wealth  for  gold  in  Fashion's  mart; 
Traverse  rough  seas  some  distant  point  to  win, 
Without  a  chart. 

"  Fray  the  fine  cord  of  Love  until  it  break; 

Launch  thy  pirogue  before  the  storm  abate; 
Tease  the  prone,  sleeping  Peril  till  it  wake :  — 
Then  rail  at  Fate!  " 

It  will  be  seen  that  Mrs.  Dandridge  belongs,  not  to  the  great, 
but  to  the  exquisite  singers  of  our  country. 


APPENDIX 

Titles  of  Works  Reviewed 

VIRGINIA 


ASTEOP: — Original  Poems  on  a  Variety  of  Subjects,  interspersed  with 

Tales,   forming  the  largest  miscellaneous  collection   ever  pub- 
lished by  an  American  Author,  by  Robert  Francis  Astrop,  of 

Brunswick,  Va.    Philadelphia,  1835;  pp.  132. 
BABTLEY: — Lays  of  Ancient  Virginia  and  Other  Poems,  by  James 

Avis  Bartley.    Richmond,  1855;  pp.  204. 

Poems,  by  James  Avis  Bartley.       Charlottesville,  1882;   pp.  93. 
BLACKWELL: — The  Poetical  Works  of  James  DeRuyter  BlacJcwell,  in 

three  volumes.     New  York,  1879. 
BOOTON: — Fugitive  Lines  of  John  Heiskell  Booton,  edited  with  an 

Introduction   and   Notes,   by   William   Haller   Cassell.     Salem, 

Va.,  1899;  pp.  32. 

Songs   and   Fantasies,    by   John    Heiskell    Booton    and    Edwin 

Latham  Quarles.     Salem,  Va.,  1900;  pp.  56. 
EOWEES: — Newspaper  Waste  Basket  and  Other  Poems,  by  Charles 

William  Bowers.     Highland  Springs,  Va.,  1906;  pp.  47. 
BEANCH: — Life, — A  Poem  in  Three  Books,  by  William  Branch,  Jr. 

Richmond,  1819;  pp.  218. 
BEYAN: — The  Mountain  Muse,  Comprising  the  Adventures  of  Daniel 

Boone  and  the  Power  of  Virtuous  and  Refined  Beauty,  by  Daniel 

Bryan.     Harrisonburg,  1813;  pp.  252. 
BUEK: — Bunker  Hill,  or  the  Death  of  General  Warren:  an  Historical 

Tragedy  in  five  Acts,  by  John  Burk,  Late  of  Trinity  College, 

Dublin.    New  York,  1817. 
CABELL: — An  Odd  Volume  of  Facts  and  Fiction,  in  Prose  and  Verset, 

by  Julia  Mayo  Cabell.    Richmond,  1852. 
CAETEE: — A  Medley: A  Poem   by  Bernard  M.   Carter,   of  Virginia. 

London,  1823;  pp.  30. 
CAETEE,  ST.  LEGEE  LANDON: — Nugae  by  Nugator;  or,  Pieces  in  Prose 

and  Verse.    Baltimore,  1844. 

[329] 


330  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

CAETEE: — Echoes  from  the  Glen  in  Divers  Keys,  by  William  Page 

Carter.     New  York,  1904;  pp.  138. 
CHEEVBS: — Sketches   in   Prose   and   Verse,   by   Mrs.    E.   W.   Foote 

Cheeves.     Baltimore,  1849;  pp.  264. 
CLAIBOENE: — Hawthorne  Leaves,  by  Martha  J.  Claiborne.    Baltimore, 

1894;  pp.  200. 
CLABKSON: — Songs  of  Love  and  War,  by  Henry  Mazyck  Clarkson, 

A.  M.,  M.  D.  Manassas  Journal  Press,  Manassas,  Va.,  1898;  pp. 

158. 
CLAYTOE: — Otter  dale;  or,  Pen  Pictures  of  Farm  Life,   and   Other 

Poems,  by  Graham  Claytor,  Liberty,  Va.  Richmond,  1885;  pp.  72. 
COOKE: — Froissart  Ballards  and  Other  Poems,  by  Philip  Pendleton 

Cooke.    Philadelphia,  1847;  pp.  216. 

COOPEE: — The  Musings  of  Myron,  by  Charles  W.  Cooper.    New  Mar- 
ket, Va.,  1880;  pp.  50. 
GOTTEN: — The  White  Doe, — The  Fate  of  Virginia  Dare:     An  Indian 

Legend,  by  Sallie  Southall  Gotten.    Philadelphia,  1901;  pp.  89. 
DABNEY: — Poems,    Original   and    Translated,   by    Richard    Dabney. 

Second  Edition.    Philadelphia,  1815;  pp.  172. 
DAVIS: — Poetry  on  Several  Subjects  for  the  People,  by  B.  W.  Davis, 

of  Valley  School.    Richmond,  1855;  pp.  20. 
DAVIS: — Poems  of  Laura;  an  Original  'American  Work,  by  Martha 

Ann  Davis.    Petersburg,  1818;  pp.  106. 
DAY: — The  Blended  Flags,  by  Mrs.  W.  C.  Day.    Danville,  1898;  pp. 

46. 
DONL.EAVY: — A  Bunch  of  Flowers,  by  Kathleen  DonLeavy.    Angel 

Guardian  Press,  Boston,  1904;  pp.  90. 
EL  WES,  A.  W.: — The  Potomac  Muse,  by  a  Lady,  a  Native  of  Virginia. 

Richmond,  1825;  pp.  172. 
EVANS: — Sir  Francis   Drake,   and  Other  Fugitive   Poems,  by   Col. 

Thos.  J.  Evans.    Richmond,  1895;  pp.  72. 
FAEMEB: — The  Fairy  of  the  Stream  and  Others  Poems,  by  C.  M. 

Farmer.    Richmond,  1847;  pp.  167. 

FIBEY:— Poems,  by  Samuel  M.  Firey.    Roanoke,  1904;  pp.  282. 
FITZ: — Gallery  of  Poetic  Pictures;  comprising  True  Portraits  and 

Fancy  Sketches,  interspersed  with  Humorous,  Moral,  and  Solemn 

Pieces,  together  with  Historic,  Patriotic,  and  Sentimental  Poems, 

and  Memories  of  the  Past,  by  James  Fitz.    Richmond,  1857;  pp. 

195. 


APPENDIX  331 

GABBER: — Pocahontas,  by  Mrs.  Virginia  Armistead  Garber.  Illu- 
strated by  the  author.  New  York,  1907;  pp.  39. 

GLASGOW: — The  Freeman  and  Other  Poems,  by  Ellen  Glasgow,  New 
York,  1902;  pp.  56. 

GOBDON: — For  Truth  and,  Freedom,  by  Armistead  C.  Gordon.  Staun- 
ton,  Va.,  1898;  pp.  50. 

GOBDON  AND  PAGE: — Befo'  de  War,  Echoes  in  Negro  Dialect,  by  A. 
C.  Gordon  and  Thomas  Nelson  Page.  New  York,  1888;  pp.  130. 

GOBDON:— Ballads  of  the  Sunlit  Years,  by  James  Lindsay  Gordon. 
New  York,  1904;  pp.  84. 

GBEENE: — A  Legend  of  Old  Virginia,  by  Willian  Batchelder  Greene. 
London,  1891;  pp.  14. 

GBEENWAY: — Here  and  There, — A  Collection  of  Reprinted  Pieces 
from  the  Religious  Herald  and  other  Periodicals,  "by  J.  R.  G., 
together  with  Unpublished  Poems  by  the  same  Author.  Rich- 
mond, 1892;  pp.  46. 

GBEGOBY: — Bonniebell  and  Other  Poems,  by  Edward  S.  Gregory. 
Lynchburg,  Va.,  1880;  pp.  268. 

Lenore  and  Other  Poems, — Original  and  Translated,  by  Edward 
S.  Gregory.     Lynchburg,  1883;  pp.  268. 

HAINES,  HIRAM: — Mountain  Buds  and  Blossoms,  wove  in  a  Rustic 
Garland,  by  the  Stranger  of  Fairfax  Lodge,  No.  43— Fairfax 
Chapter,  No.  13 — and  Petersburg  Council  of  Royal  and  Select 
Masters,  No.  5.  Kunst  macht  Gunst.  Petersburg,  1825;  pp.  204. 

HENKEL: — Kurzer  Zeitvertreib,  bestehend  in  einigen  Liedern,  dien- 
lich  zur  Sittenlehre,  von  Paul  Henkel.  Dayton,  Ohio,  1851. 
(First  edition  in  1810). 

HOLCOMBE: — Poems,  by  William  H.  Holcombe,  M.  D.  New  York, 
1860;  pp.  360. 

HOPE: — A  Wreath  of  Virginia  Bay  Leaves, — Poems  by  James  Barron 
Hope,  Selected  and  Edited  by  his  Daughter,  Janey  Hope  Marr. 
Richmond,  1895;  pp.  159. 

HOWARD: — The  Mystic  Circle  of  Kate's  Mountain,  by  John  Howard. 
Richmond,  1895;  pp.  12. 

JANNEY: — The  Last  of  the  LenapJ  and  Other  Poems,  by  Samuel  M. 
Janney.  Philadelphia,  1839;  pp.  180. 

JOBDAN: — Flowers  of  Hope  and  Memory:  a  Collection  of  Poems,  by 
Cornelia  J.  M.  Jordon.    Richmond,  1861;  pp.  330. 
Echoes  from  the  Cannon,  by  Cornelia  J.  Matthews  Jordan,  edited 
by  Theresa  Jordan  Ambler.    Buffalo,  N.  Y.,  1899;  pp.  207. 


332  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

JULAP: — The  Glosser:  a  Poem  in  Two  Books,  by  Giles  Julap,  of 
Chotank,  Va.,  1802;  pp.  72. 

KIEFFEE: — Hours  of  Fancy;  or,  Vision  and  Vigil,  by  Aldine  S. 
Kieffer.  Dayton,  Va.,  1881;  pp.  237. 

LEE: — Virginia  Georgics,  written  for  the  Hole  and  Corner  Club  of 
Powhatan,  by  Charles  Carter  Lee.  Richmond,  1858. 

LEES: — The  Musings  of  Carol,  Containing  an  Essay  on  Liberty,  The 
desperado,  a  Tale  of  the  Ocean,  and  Other  Original  Poems,  by 
Thomas  J.  Lees.  Wheeling,  1831. 

LEWIS:—  Flowers  and  Weeds  of  the  Old  Dominion,— Poems  Collected 
by  John  Lewis,  the  Author  of  Young  Kate,  etc.  Frankfort, 
Ky.,  1859;  pp.  370.  (In  part  written  by  the  compiler). 

LEWIS: — The  Nosegay,  by  John  Moncure  Lewis.  (Included  in 
Flowers  and  Weeds  of  the  Old  Dominion). 

LITTLEFORD: — The  Wreath  or,  Verses  on  Various  Subjects,  by  a 
Lady  of  Richmond.  Richmond,  1828.  (Included  in  Flowers 
and  Weeds  of  the  Old  Dominion  collected  by  John  Lewis). 

LOMAX: — The  Notes  of  an  American  Lyre,  by  Judith  Lomax,  a 
Native  of  Virginia.  Richmond,  1813;  pp.  GO. 

LUCAS: — The  Wreath  of  Eglantine  and  Other  Poems,  edited  and  in 
part  composed  by  Daniel  Bedinger  Lucas.  Baltimore,  1869; 
pp.  169. 

LUCAS: — The  Wreath  of  Eglantine,  by  Virginia  Lucas.  (See  preced- 
ing work.) 

MCCABE: — Scraps,  by  John  Collins  McCabe.     Richmond  1835;  pp.  186. 

MACK: — Old  Jamestoivn:  an  Historical  Poem,  by  Flora  Lapham 
Mack,  1906;  pp.  16. 

MAKE: — Heart-Life  in  Song,  by  Miss  Fannie  H.  Marr.  Richmond, 
1880. 

Virginia  and  Other  Poems,  by  Miss  Fannie  H.  Marr.     Phila- 
delphia, 1881. 

MAETIN: — Smith  and  Pocahontas:  A  Poem,  by  J.  H.  Martin.  Rich- 
mond, 1862;  pp.  135. 

MAXWELL: — Poems,  by  William  Maxwell,  Esq.  Philadelphia,  1812; 
pp.  144. 

MICHAED: — Religio  Poetae,  A  Trilogy,  edited  byJ.  Michard,  Professor 
of  Modern  Languages.  Richmond,  1860;  pp.  119. 

MITCHELL:— Indecision,  a  Tale  of  the  Far  West;  and  Other  Poems, 
by  J.  K.  Mitchell.  Philadelphia,  1839. 


APPENDIX  333 


MOOMAW: — Songs  in  the  Night,  by  Benjamin   C.  Moomaw.    1900; 

PP.  52. 
MOBGAN: — Song-Sermons    and    Other    Poems,    by    James    Brainerd 

Morgan.     Richmond,  1892;  pp.  109. 

Strollings  in  Song-Land,  by  James  Brainerd  Morgan.     1893. 
MUNFOED: — A  Collection  of  Plays  and  Poems,  by  the  late  Col.  Robert 

Munford,   of  Mecklenburg   County,   in   the    State   of   Virginia. 

Petersburg,  1798;  pp.  206. 
MUNFOKD: — Poems  and  Compositions  in  Prose,  by  William  Munford, 

Richmond,  1798;  pp.  189. 

Homers's  Iliad,  Translated  by  William  Munford.     In  two  Vol- 
umes.    Boston,  1846. 
NEWBEERY: — {Eagle  Oak  and  Other  Poems,  by   Samuel   Henderson 

Newberry,  of  Bland,  Va.     Richmond,  1906;  pp.  426. 
iPAGE,  THOS.  NELSON: — See  Gordon. 
PAINTER: — Lyrical  Vignettes,  by  F.  V.  N.  Painter.    Boston,  1900; 

pp.  114. 
PAESONS: — The  Reaper  and  Other  Poems,  by  H.  C.  Parsons.    New 

York,  1884;  pp.  61. 

POE: — Poems,  by  Edgar  Allen  Poe  (Various  editions). 
PORTEE: — The  Lost  Cause  and  Other  Poems,  by  Duval  Porter.    First 

Edition.     Danville,  Va.,  1897;  pp.  96. 
POWERS: — Uncle  Isaac,  or  Old  Days  in  the  South,  by  William  Dudley 

Powers.    Richmond,  1899;  pp.  245. 
PRESTON: — Beechenbrook:    a  Rhyme  of   the  War,  by  Margaret  J. 

Preston.    Baltimore,  1865. 

Cartoons,  by  Margaret  J.  Preston.    Boston,  1875. 

For  Love's  Sake, — Poems  of  Faith  and  Comfort,  by  Margaret  J. 

Preston,  New  York,  1886. 

Colonial  Ballads,  Sonnets,  and  Other  Verses,  by  Margaret  J. 

Preston.    Boston,  1887. 
QUAELES,  JAMES  A.: — Via  Dolorosa;  or,  the  Travail  of  Christ's  Soul, 

by  Dunlora.    Danville,  Ky.;  pp.  14. 
RANDOLPH: — Poems  by  Innes  Randolph,  compiled  by  his  son  from 

the  Original  Manuscript.    Baltimore,  1898;  pp.  76. 
RITSON: — A  poetical  Picture  of  America,  "being  Observations  made 

during  a  Residence  of  Several  Years  at  Alexandria  and  Norfolk 

in  Virginia;  and  Interspersed  with  Anecdotes,  arising  from  a 

general  Intercourse  with  Society  in  that  Country,  from  the  year 

1799  to  1807,  by  A  Lady.    London,  1809;  pp.  177. 


334  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

RIVES: — Herod  and  Mariamne:  a  Tragedy,  by  Amelie'  Rives.  Phila- 
delphia.   Poems  in  Magazines. 
ROBERTSON: — Virginia;  or,  The  Fatal  Patent, — A  Metrical  Romance 

in  Three  Cantos,  by  John  Robertson.    Washington,  1825;  pp.  68. 

Riego  or,  the  Spanish  Martyr, — A  Tragedy  in  Five  Acts,  by  John 

Robertson.    Richmond,  1850;    pp.  106. 

Opuscula,  Seria  ac  Jocosa, — Found  in  the  Scrutoire  of  an  ultra 

Octogenarian, — Written  during  Intervals  of  relaxation  from  the 

Duties  of  a  Busy  Life,  by  John  Robertson.     1871;  pp.  40. 
ROSE: — The   Poetry   of   Locofocoism ;   or,  Modern  Democracy   and 

Cassism  Unmasked. — A  Poetical  and  Personal  Poem  containing 

275  Stanzas,  by  E.  M.  P.  Rose.    Wellsburgh,  Va.,  1848;  pp.  48. 
RYAN: — Poems:    Patriotic,  Religious,  Miscellaneous,  by  Abram  J. 

Ryan.    Baltimore,  1881;  pp.  348. 
SALYAKDS: — Idothea;  or,  the  Divine  Image, — A  Poem,  by  Joseph 

Salyards.    New  Market,  1874;  pp.  308. 
SANDYS: — Ovid's  Metamorphoses  Englished  by  (?.  S., — Imprinted  at 

London  MDCXXVI.    Cum  privilegio.    London.    Printed  by  Wil- 
liam Stansby. 
SELDEN:— Poems,  by  Samuel  Selden,  M.  D.,  of  Norfolk,  Va.    Norfolk, 

1880;  pp.  77. 
SEMMES,  THOMAS  J.: — Poems,  by  A  Collegian.    Charlottesville,  1833; 

pp.  95. 
SHEFFEY: — The  Spirit-Mother  and  Other  Poems,  by  Miriam  Sheffey. 

New  York,  1905;  pp.  62. 
SLEDD: — From  Cliff  and  Scaur,  by  Benjamin  Sledd.    New  York,  1897; 

pp.  100. 

The  Watchers  of  the  Hearth,  by  Benjamin  Sledd.    Boston,  1902; 

pp.  84. 

SMILEY,  MATILDA: — Poems,  by  Matilda.    Richmond,   1851;    pp.  311. 
SMITH: — Up   to   the  Light,   with   Other  Religious   and  Devotional 

Poems,  by  Sara  Henderson  Smith.    New  York,  1884;   pp.  108. 
SPEECE: — My  Native  Land  and  Other  Poems,  by  Frederick  Speece. 

Philadelphia,  1832;  pp.  156. 
STANTON: — Moneyless  Man  and  Other  Poems,  by  Henry  T.  Stanton. 

Baltimore,  1871;  pp.  159. 
SWAETZ: — Dreaming 's  of  the  Waking  Heart,  by  Joel  Swartz.     1879. 

Poems,  by  Joel  Swartz.     1901;  pp.  239. 
TABB: — Lyrics  by  John  B.  Tabb,  Boston,  1897;  pp.  187. 

Poems,  by  John  B.  Tabb.     Boston,  1897;  pp.  172. 


APPENDIX  335 


TALLEY: — Poems,  by  Susan  Archer  Talley.    New  York,  1859;  pp.  183. 
THOMAS: — A  Poetical  Descant  on  the  Primeval  and  Present  State  of 

Mankind;  or,  the  Pilgrim's  Muse,  by  Joseph  Thomas,  Minister 

of  the  Gospel,  Winchester,  Va.,  1816;  pp.  219. 
TUCKEB: — Confederate    Memorial    Verses,    by    Beverley    Dandridge 

Tucker,  Chaplain  Pickett-Buchanan  Camp  C.  V.,  Norfolk,  Va.; 

pp.  36. 
TUCKER,  ST.  GEORGE: — Probationary  Odes  of  Jonathan  Pindar,  Esq. 

Philadelphia,  1796;  pp.  103. 
TYLER,  ROBERT: — Ahasuerus:     A  Poem,  by  a  Virginian.    New  York, 

1842;   pp.  46. 

Death,  or  Medora's  Dream,  by  Robert  Tyler.    1843. 
WALL: — Fashion:  a  Humorous  and  Satirical  Poem, — in  Two  Parts, 

by  Rev.  Henry  Wall,  Rector  of  St.  John's  Church,  Richmond, 

Va.    Richmond,  1870;  pp.  22. 
WEBSTER: — Pocahontas, — A  Legend  with  Historical  and  Traditionary 

Notes,  by  Mrs.  M.  M.  Webster.     Philadelphia,  1840;  pp.  220. 
WEEMS: — Hymen's  Recruiting  Sergeant;  or,  the  New  Matrimonial 

Tat-too  for  the  Old  Bachelors,  by  the  Rev.  M.  L.  Weems.    Phil- 
adelphia, 1821;  pp.  40. 
WHARTON: — The   Virginia   Wreath;   or,    Original   Poems,   by    John 

Wharton,   M.   D.,   Formerly   President   of  the   Royal    Physical 

Society  at  Edinburgh,  and  Honorary  Member  of  the  Medical 

and  Physical  Society  of  Guy's  Hospital,  London.    Winchester, 

Va.,  1814;  pp.  96. 
WHITAKER: — Poems,    by   Mary    Scrimzeour   Whitaker.    Charleston, 

1850;  pp.  800. 
WHITTET: — The   Bright   Side  of  Suffering   and   Other  Poems,    by 

Robert  Whittet,  Richmond,  1882;  pp.  384. 

Sonnets,  Mostly  on  Scripture  Themes,  with  a  Few  Other  Poems, 

by  Robert  Whittet.    Richmond,  Va.,  1900;  pp.  324. 
WINSTON: — Pilate's  Question,  or,  What  is  Truth?  by  Mrs.  Rosalie 

Bankhead  Winston,  Fredericksburg,  Va.  Richmond,   1885;    pp. 

134. 
WOLFE: — A  Book  of  Odds  and  Ends,  by  C.  Toler  Wolfe,  Winchester, 

1852. 
WOOD: — The  Bouquet,  by  Mrs.  Jean  Wood.      (In  Flowers  and  Weeds 

of  the  Old  Dominion  collected  by  John  Lewis  in  1859). 
WOOD:— -Arcade  Echoes,  consisting  of  Selections  from  the  University 

Magazine,  by  Thomas  L.  Wood.    Philadelphia,  1890. 


336  POETS  OF  VIRGINIA 

WOEMLEY: — Poems,  by  Carter  W.  Wormley.    New  York,  1904;   pp* 

73. 
WEEN: — Echoes  from  the  Heart,  by  Margaret  Breckenridge  Wren. 

Richmond,  1887;  pp.  259. 

WEST  VIRGINIA 

BAEBE: — Ashes    and   Incense, — Poems,   by   Waitman   Barbe.     Phil- 
adelphia, 1892;   pp.  158. 
CHBISTIAN: — The  Mountain  Bard;  a  Series  of  Original  Poems,  by 

C.  Russell  Christian.     Huntingdon,  W.  Va.,  1885;  pp.  15  G. 
COENWELL: — Wheat  and  Chaff, — Verses,  Letters,  and  Extracts  from 

the  Writings  of  M.  S.  Cornwell.     Romney,  W.  Va.;  pp.  92. 
DANDBIDGE: — Rose  Brake  Poems,  by  Danske  Dandridge.    New  York, 

1890;  pp.  110. 

Joy  and  Other  Poems,  by  Danske  Dandridge.    New  York,  1900; 

pp.  206. 
DAVIS: — Songs  of  the  Age,  by  Col.  Dudley  H.   Davis,   Illustrated. 

Baltimore,  1891;  pp.  143. 

The  Kingdom  Gained  and  Other  Poems,  by  Col.  Dudley  H.  Davis. 

Richmond,  1896;  pp.  267. 
MAXWELL: — Idyls  of  the  Golden  Shore,  by  Hu  Maxwell.    New  York, 

1889;  pp.  233. 
WITHEES: — Wildwood  Chimes,  by  Emma  Withers.     Cincinnati,  1891; 

pp.  135. 


RETURN    CIRCULATION  DEPARTMENT 
TO—*    202  Main  Library 

LOAN  PERIOD  1 
HOME  USE 

"2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

ALL  BOOKS  MAY  BE  RECALLED  AFTER  7  DAYS 

Renewals  and  Recharges  may  be  made  4  days  prior  to  the  due  date. 

Books  may  be  Renewed  by  calling        642-3405 


DUE  AS  STAMPED  BELOW 

SEP  9  8  199 

4 

AUTO  DISC  CIRC   / 

U626'93 

FORM  NO.  DD6 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  BERKELEY 
BERKELEY,  CA  94720 


u 


t- 


U.C.BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


CQL4S14073S5 


